


Remember When You Changed?

by bento33



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Eating Disorders, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Misunderstandings, Self-Harm, Trans Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:22:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 35,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27473473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bento33/pseuds/bento33
Summary: Since the summer of their sophomore year, Louis and Harry haven't spoken much outside of a couple parties thrown by their friends. Harry has given up trying to figure out why, but still can't seem to get Louis out of his head. Louis' been regretting the distance between them for months, but is convinced that he'll never be close to Harry again until he gets a call from Niall one night. Soon, he discovers just how much a year can change a person.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 13
Kudos: 69





	1. Chapter 1

It’s 2 am on a Thursday morning and Louis still can’t get to sleep. He’s been laying there for nearly an hour, desperately trying to get some rest before he has to be an actual human being in the morning, but no such luck yet. It’s been like this for a while, the insomnia worse on days when he’s nervous or in his head a little too much, turning over everything that he’s fucked up on in the past year and a half. He’s been thinking about Harry a lot, more than usual at least, ever since he’d seen him post something on his stupid fucking twitter for the first time in ages. Just some stupid “all is well, xx” bullshit that is so fucking Harry it hurts. He’d gone back through his text messages with him after he’d seen it - re-read them all one night when he couldn’t sleep. He’d read all the way back to the first text messages they exchanged and then wished he hadn’t, sad that he could visibly see the peetering conversation and elongated time between replies. He pushes thoughts of that summer aside when his phone rings, confused by who would call him so late when everyone had classes the next day. 

It’s Niall. Another person he’d been losing touch with, slower than Harry, but still. They used to talk everyday, shared a couple of classes over the years, and now they barely manage to grab coffee together every other week. He supposes it makes sense, to some degree, Niall is Harry’s roommate after all, so seeing Louis all the time is probably not the best idea. He considers letting his phone go to voicemail, thinking that he could use the excuse of having fallen asleep if Niall asked, but he thinks better of it. Don’t need to drive any more unnecessary distance than there already is between the two of them, right? 

“Louis, is that you, are you awake?” There’s an edge in Niall’s voice that immediately makes Louis more alert, tells him that this is more than just some random late-night call. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m awake, what’s up?” 

“Lou, I really hate to have to ask you this, but Zayn’s out of town and you’re the only other person that I know who has a car on campus, and I really need your help.” 

He’s panicking at that, Niall isn’t someone to ask for help out of nowhere, “Niall, where are you I can come pick you up it’s no big deal, there’s no need to be sorry.”

“I’m on campus Lou, I’m headed to your apartment. It’s Harry.” 

Oh. That’s why he’s sorry. He lets out a breath, waits for Niall to elaborate. 

“I really don’t want to explain it over the phone, but I promise I wouldn’t call you if it wasn’t an emergency. I really don’t know what else to do Louis” 

“Is he hurt? Do we need to call 911?” 

“No -” Niall is quick to answer that, “he wouldn’t let us do that. He’s just left and I can’t have him alone right now and I really need to get to him.” His voice is desperate on the other side of the phone, it dawns on Louis that Niall is crying. 

“Yeah, yeah okay. Let me throw on a sweatshirt and then we can meet outside my apartment.” there’s quiet on both sides of the phone, “are you sure we don’t need to call anyone? It sounds like you’re really freaking out.” 

“He asked me not to. We’ll see how he is when we get to him, okay? I just, we can’t do that right now.” 

“Okay,” he grabs a sweatshirt and hurries out the door, “I’m outside my apartment now, fuck, you didn’t tell me it was raining.” 

Raining doesn’t cover it. It’s pouring. An apocalyptic level of water coming down from the sky. He pulls his hood up over his head and huddles under that awning, barely able to make out Niall’s form through the downpour as he runs to Louis’ apartment building. Niall has been crying. His face is red and blotchy, as he comes into Louis’ sight. 

“My car’s over here”, Louis leads the two of them to his beat-up subaru. The rain is coming down hard enough that he can’t really hear anything Niall’s saying, so he resolves to wait until they’re both inside the car to start pestering him with questions. Before he’s able to open his mouth when they get inside, Niall’s interrupting him. 

“I know you have a million questions right now, but we really need to get to him as fast as we can. Like, I need you to start driving right now.” 

“Where am I headed?” 

“He’s at Jacobson,” 

Louis looks up in alarm at that, and immediately starts the engine, pulling out of the parking garage as quickly as he can “Jesus fucking Christ Niall why’s he there in the middle of the night?” 

“I know, I know - he, that wasn’t where he said he’d be. Do you really think I’d let him walk three miles to some random park in the middle of the night if I’d known that’s where he was going? He just called me freaking out that his phone was about to die and he didn’t know how to get out of there, and it’s raining so bad Lou” 

“Okay, okay, don’t worry, he may be an idiot but he’s smart enough to keep himself safe.” 

Niall looks unsure, and half-opens his mouth to follow-up with something before he decides better of it and instead says, “I’m sorry for putting you out like this, Louis. I know it’s really tough to like, yeah” he trails off and leaves it there. 

“Yeah, well. Just because we don’t talk anymore doesn’t mean that I hate him. Or that I want him walking around some random park alone at 2 in the morning. Jesus, how could he be so stupid. People get robbed there all the time, Ni, we just got an email the other day that someone had been mugged.” 

“Yeah, well, he doesn’t have his head on straight, so I don’t think he was really thinking about the liability when he started walking.” He lets that sit for a minute, and then follows up with, “when we get to him, I really need you to not like, freak out at him. He’s not doing well, and I know he’s made a lot of bad decisions but right now like, getting mad at him is only going to be worse.” 

Louis purses his lips, “There’s something you’re not telling me about what’s going on Ni, and I really don’t appreciate it.” 

“Yeah, well, oh fuck - stop he’s right there” 

Louis quickly slams on the breaks, pulling into the small pull-off space on the side of the road. He looks around blindly, trying to see what Niall is pointing at. It takes him a few seconds until he can make out a huddled form, knees tucked up into their chest, sitting on the side of the road. He can’t believe that Niall saw him there in a moving vehicle. 

“Hold on just a sec, can you keep the car running, I’ll go grab him and bring him back. Too many people at first might be a lot.” 

Louis nods silently, too taken aback by the scene that he sees in front of him to argue. Niall approaches Harry slowly, ignoring the rain that is still pouring down all around them. He leans down in the grass on the side of the road, close but not touching the other boy. They stay like that for a couple of seconds, Louis unable to make out any words that are exchanged between the two, until he gradually sees Harry lean into Niall and Niall wrap his arms tight around Harry. Harry doesn’t make a move to stand up, and Niall must decide that he isn’t budging on his own, because he carefully adjusts his hold around Harry and picks him up bridal style to carry him to the car. 

Louis gets out quickly and steps around the car to open the side door, letting Niall lay Harry down in the backseat and sit next to him, and then climbing quickly back in the driver's seat so that they’re all out of the rain. He’s properly scared now. Harry hasn’t really moved since they’d pulled up, and he lays still in the same place where Niall first placed him. He looks like shit. His entire body is shivering from being out in the rain for god knows how long, and he still has yet to acknowledge either Niall or Louis. 

“Hey Haz, are you with me?” Niall’s voice is heartbreakingly gentle, so soft that Louis can barely hear it from the front seat. Harry doesn’t respond, doesn’t even look at Niall, or show any sign that he’s heard him. “Okay, here, take my hand, there you go, are you with us now?” 

Niall grabs Harry’s hand, and though he still doesn’t respond, he squeezes Niall’s hand tight once. 

“Okay, that’s so good. I'm going to ask the tough questions now, alright? I’m not mad at all Haz, just want to make sure that you’re safe, okay?” 

There’s another squeeze, which Louis has gathered is meant to mean, “yes” 

“Did you drink any before you left?” 

And god, that is not the question that Louis was expecting. When they’d been close, Harry had barely drank, and only when other people did. Louis’ thoughts flash briefly to the way Harry’s nose had scrunched up tight the first time they’d taken a shot together. 

Harry squeezes Niall’s hand tight, though, his eyes still unfocused and hazy. 

“Okay, that’s okay. Did you have more than you usually do?” 

Harry doesn’t squeeze this time, just stares ahead, blinking slowly.

“Good, that’s so good Haz. Did you take the medicine that we talked about?” 

Harry squeezes his eyes tight, and squeezes Niall’s hand again. 

“Okay, I promise I’m not mad. I know that this is really hard for you, okay? Did you take more than four?” 

This time Harry has enough energy to shake his head no, clearly wanting Niall to know that he hadn’t done that, whatever that meant. 

“Okay that’s great Haz. I don’t think we’ll need to go to the doctors’ then, but we’re going to take you home and get you settled and then we’re going to stay up with you for a little bit to make sure you’re okay, alright?” 

Harry doesn’t respond to that, but both Niall and Louis assume that that’s at least silent agreement. 

“We can head back to the dorms now, Lou. He’ll be okay for the car to start moving”. His voice is still so low, and careful, and slow. Louis doesn’t dare say anything, just drives in silence and listens to Niall whisper quietly to Harry. He doesn’t stop talking once on the car ride, telling Harry about his day and what he did in class, and how he had met up with a friend for lunch that afternoon. Louis half-listens, realizing that Niall isn’t really saying anything that mattered, probably just trying to keep Harry calm, and awake, his mind supplies. 

It’s not till they pull into the parking lot of Niall and Harry’s apartment and Louis puts the car in park that Niall says anything to Louis. 

“You can just drop us off here, Lou, he’ll be okay now.” 

Louis scoffs, “like hell I will, seriously Niall, do you really think that I’d see this,” he gestures perhaps a little rudely to Harry, “and not need to talk to you about it?”

Niall sighs, “now really isn’t a great time to have that conversation. I need to get him inside and cleaned up and -” 

“I’ll help you”, he says, pointedly looking at how Niall’s struggling to get Harry on his feet and out of the car. 

“Lou, you haven’t seen each other in nine months, I don’t know if that’s the best -”

Harry choses that moment to tilt away from where he was leaning on Niall’s shoulder and vomit all over the parking lot. 

“I really don’t care. If he’s that sick you need someone to help you.” 

Niall runs his hand through his hair tersely and nods, “yeah, okay, just, we can talk after we get him settled, but I need you to go with everything right now.” 

Louis nods, understanding that now wasn’t an ideal time to be asking for answers, even though he desperately wanted them. 

Niall ends up electing to carry Harry up to their apartment building and to the elevators, deciding that after he’d been sick, trying to get him to hold himself up wasn’t the best idea. Louis realizes briefly that this is the first time he’ll be seeing their apartment, he’d dropped Niall out in front of it plenty of times after they’d finished hanging out, but had never been invited inside. 

“Okay Haz, I’m going to put you down so that I can get my keys, alright?” 

“Here, I can take him, I don’t want you putting him down on the ground,” Louis offers, and holds out his arms to accept the younger boy. He braces himself for the weight of him. Harry has never been big, but he was tall, and when Louis and him lived together, he’d worked out nearly every day. He’s surprised then by how light he is when Niall nods and hands him off to Louis. He adds that list to the now rapidly accumulating worries for Harry. Harry seems either too out of it to care or unaware that Louis is now the one holding him, and Niall quickly opens that apartment to let them both in. 

“Here, I can take him, his room is the one on the right, if you could grab him some fresh clothes and meet me in the bathroom that’d be great. His sweatpants and stuff should just be in the top drawer”. He turns his attention back to Harry, and takes him back from Louis, careful to jostle him as little as possible. Louis lets him go reluctantly, and heads to Harry’s room to gather his things. 

Harry’s room looks like it did when they lived together, he’s got fairy lights hanging everywhere, making the entire room soft and muted. He’s got some new band posters hanging up, but the wall of pictures and notes and letters still remains, Louis notes with a lurch that the letter he wrote Harry at the end of their summer still hangs there, next to some of their other housemates’, Louis had never thought that he would have kept it, much less display it so prominently. It bothers him that he can’t point out anything amiss from Harry’s room, judging by what he just saw, he would have expected the entire room to be in disorder, to be completely different from how he remembered, but here he was, in seemingly the exact same space that he had visited Harry in a year and a half ago. Being in the room reminds him so deeply of their summer that it’s painful, even though it’s a completely different room. The beat up lazyboy is still in the corner, which Louis remembers spending hours sitting in just talking shit, he has the same bright yellow comforter spread out on his bed. Louis tries to ignore the memories that spring to his mind so quickly and freely, and concentrates on his mission: getting Harry a change of clothes. 

His drawers are just as neat and tidy as the rest of the room, each shirt and pair of pants folded carefully, the corners creased just so. He grabs the first pair of sweatpants he can find, but makes sure that the shirt he picks matches at least a little bit, remembering how particular Harry had been about making sure that everything “looked right”. He grabs a pair of boxers too, as an afterthought, assuming that Harry has probably been out in the rain long enough that he’ll need a new pair. 

The water has been running for awhile now, Louis can just barely hear Niall talking to Harry over the sound of the tap. It sounds like Niall is drawing a bath for him, Louis assumes because Harry probably shouldn’t be trusted standing up in the shower on his own. Finally, he brings the change of clothes to the bathroom, to find Harry leaned against the seat of the toilet, staring blankly at Niall who’s testing the water to make sure it’s not too hot for him. 

Louis stands in the doorway, feeling more than a little awkward, and not really sure what either of them want from him. Niall looks up from the water and smiles tightly, extending his dry hand to grab the change of clothes from Louis. 

“Thanks mate, I hate to ask you this but he’s more out of it than he usually is, and he’s not really up to helping right now. Could you get him out of his shirt just so he’s ready to get in the bath? He can keep his pants on and everything, it’s just, since he’s been sick, y’know?” 

Louis nods blankly, and moves towards Harry who still hasn’t acknowledged him. 

“Hey Haz,” he starts, not wanting to start doing anything that he isn’t comfortable with, “I’m just going to take your shirt off, okay, just so we can get you cleaned up and ready for bed and everything, okay?” He’s surprised that his own voice lowers as much as Niall’s has too, almost automatically careful of making a wrong move. 

Harry does turn when he’s addressed directly - he looks pitifully at Louis, his eyes half-closed and a little glazed over. Louis isn’t sure if Harry recognizes him, if he’s even in a place to acknowledge that Louis is right there, in front of him, looking him in the eye for the first time in what seems like forever. Gently, carefully, Louis lifts up Harry’s shirt, still soaked from the rain and pulls it over his head, and god he isn’t ready to be here, looking at him like this right now. Louis knew from the moment that he saw him that Harry looked like shit, but seeing him without a shirt on really drives it home. Harry’s so much smaller than he was. His tattoos are stretched tight against bone, his ribs poking out just slightly right above his butterfly; and Jesus he isn’t supposed to look like that. 

“Niall, I, you said that -”

“Not right now Louis, believe me I know, we can talk about it later. I promise that even if he isn’t responding he can still hear you, and we really shouldn’t be talking about it with him right there.” 

Louis wants to scream. To know exactly how it less than two years for Harry to end up like this. Because obviously this isn’t the first time that Niall has seen him like this, there’s no way it’s a new thing judging by how unshocked Niall seems by the entire thing. Louis tries not to concentrate on what Niall had said earlier, that he’d only called because Zayn hadn’t answered, implying that Zayn knew, that this happened often enough that they had a fucking system of taking care of him. Instead he helps hold Harry and maneuvers him to the bathtub, Harry reacts a bit to that, lets his hands float to the surface and twists his fingers weakly through the warm water. 

“I’ve got him now, he won’t want anybody else to be here right now. You can wait in like, the living room, and once I get him dressed and everything we can talk, okay?” 

“Okay, yeah, I’ll be out here. Does he need like, water or anything like that?” 

Niall smiles tightly again, “nah mate, don’t think he could keep it down at this point, honestly” 

Louis nods shortly, and leaves, closing the bathroom door behind him. He’s still reeling from all of the information that he’s received in the past hour, a lump is forming in his throat as he thinks about the silence that he’s perpetuated between them, guilty that that perhaps contributed to what he saw this evening. He’s caught in his thoughts, reanalyzing everything that’s happened, the silence that he thought had been mutually agreed upon, when Niall interrupts him. 

“You look like you’re thinking too hard” 

“Lot to think about, y’know?” 

“Yeah - I’m sorry to spring all of that on you, if there had been any other way I would have, I promise. But Zayn was gone, and he won’t take ubers when he’s like that, and I couldn’t walk and get him,” he trails off. 

“Don’t be sorry. I’m glad there was someone when you needed it.” Louis says softly

They sit together on Niall and Harry’s couch for a minute, neither of them fully knowing how to broach the subject of what Louis had just been made aware of. 

“How long?” he finally asks. 

Niall looks up, confused. 

“How long has he been like that?” 

Niall sighs, “I’m not sure honestly. I think he wasn’t doing great for a really long time, and then it kind of spiraled y’know?” 

“You asked him if he was using medication, what did you mean by that?” 

Niall lets out a breath that Louis hadn’t known he’d been holding, “Right into the tough questions, huh?”, he looks down at his hands, “they’re prescribed to him is what the fucked up thing is. Not that much, of course, and not that often, but he started getting them from his doctor. You know how he gets, just nervous about everything, and it got so much worse last year, I can’t even, he stopped being able to go to the grocery store by himself it got so bad. He’d have to go with me or be on the phone with me, or Zayn or whoever. He couldn’t go to class without one of us being there, he’d start having these panic attacks all the goddamn time, and he couldn’t tell us why. We’d just see it happening and have to deal with it - he said you’d seen a couple of them your summer so you know how they get,” 

“Yeah,” Louis supplies, “they get really bad sometimes.” 

“Yeah,” Niall breathes deeply. “And then we found out stuff that was happening, I don’t, I don’t know if he’d want me to tell you, but he’s been through so much fucking shit this past year, and we told him to go to a doctor and talk about it and he did, and they gave him more of those, they prescribed more of them to him. And they helped Lou, they really did. We’d give them to him when he felt panicky or if he felt like an attack was coming on and they’d make it better. I don’t really know when it started to become like, a problem, y’know? Like the line between using them correctly and what he’s doing now isn’t clear - I don’t think he realized that he wasn’t using them like he was supposed to at first.” 

Louis sucked in a breath, sure that they were thinking about the same thing, but wanting to be explicitly on the same page anyway, “you’re talking about benzos right?” 

Niall looks like he’s about to cry, just nods his head. 

“Jesus, and he drank with those?”

“It’s been getting better, I promise. This winter,” he swallows hard, “this winter we thought he was going to die. It was the first time he mixed them, and he was so sick. He can’t remember any of it, like, he blacked out for hours before we knew. And then all of a sudden he was so fucking sick, he had a seizure Lou, like an actual fucking seizure.” 

Louis can’t believe that, won’t let himself believe that. That’s like, that’s so incredibly bad he can’t even think about it. He’d given Harry weed for the first time a little over a year ago, how could he have escalated to this in so little fucking time? 

“We didn’t take him to the hospital after that, and I hate that we didn’t. But after he had the seizure he came back to himself and he seemed so okay, and he was crying and begging us not to take him because he’s still on his mom’s insurance and he didn’t want her to know, and so we didn’t. And things have been different since then. He can’t, he’s not like he used to be. And I can’t tell if that’s because of everything he’s doing or if it’s because of what’s happened to him, but he hardly ever talks. Like, I can get him to say a few sentences when he gets home, but it’s not like it used to be, y’know?” 

And Louis knows - knows that there was a time where Harry wouldn’t shut up no matter how hard you tried, would literally talk your ear off until someone told him to shut the fuck up. Knows that there was a time where it would be weird if Harry stopped talking for even a second to let someone else have a turn. 

“And he’s on scholarship at school and that could be taken away so easily, Lou” Niall is desperately trying to explain why it’s gotten this far without Harry being hospitalized, and honestly it’s not that Louis doesn’t understand the logic, it’s just that Harry is the last person he would have expected to be having this conversation about, “I need you to know that we think we’re doing the right thing by not telling anyone else,”

“He’s nineteen Niall, fucking hell.” 

“Twenty,” Niall corrects without really thinking, “he’s twenty now.” 

Louis’ not sure why that, of all things, does it. Pushes him over the edge to start crying, because Niall’s right, it’s fucking March, which means that Harry has been twenty for more than a month now. And the thought that he missed his birthday, not just missed it, but forgot about it, after they’d made so many plans to do something to celebrate his second decade of being alive breaks him. He can’t break down in front of Niall, won’t let himself, Niall’s already dealt with one person losing their shit tonight, he doesn’t deserve having to comfort someone else. 

“It’s not your fault Lou, you know that, right?” 

And Louis doesn’t have the heart to argue with him, to tell him that it is absolutely his fucking fault because he’d been ignoring Harry for the better part of a year when he’d known that he hadn’t been doing well - added stress to an already incredibly stressful situation, and he’s sure that he at least contributed to what happened to Harry. 

“Is he going to remember that I was here?” Louis finally asks 

“Flashes of it, maybe. Probably not a lot of it. Sometimes he’ll wake up and not realize how bad it got until you tell him. It’s like he goes to another place or something for a bit,” Niall bites the side of his lip, “we talk about it the next morning usually, just to check in and see how he’s doing, if he doesn’t remember I’ll tell him.” 

Louis wants to shake his head at that, to beg Niall not to tell Harry that he’s the one who drove to pick him up from the side of some road in the middle of the night, but he knows that he can’t do that. That whatever he saw tonight has broken the silence that they’d been so carefully keeping. 

“Will you tell him that I want to talk to him when he wakes up? I don’t think I should spend the night - it would be too overwhelming in the morning, right?” 

And Niall nods again, “Yeah, let me tell him what happened and then I’ll see if he wants to text you. He might not be up for it to be honest, but we can see if he’d be okay with you coming by the apartment if he doesn’t want to meet you alone.” 

It hurts Louis that Harry probably doesn’t want to see him alone, is too afraid or in his head about everything between them that he’s scared of just seeing Louis. But he knows that Niall is right, making Harry as comfortable as possible is the first priority, and Louis can’t do anything more to upset the teetering balance that Harry seems to be on right now.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry wakes up gently, he always does on mornings like this, consciousness leaking into his brain slowly, filtering in for minutes or hours until at last he’s fully awake. He’s trying to stave off getting up as long as he can, knows that Niall will want to have another conversation with him that he’s not ready for. He’s not sure what he’s going to tell him this time, how he’s going to explain that he continues to fuck up his life when he promised that he wouldn’t. He tries to put the pieces of the night before together, he’d had a panic attack that morning for no real reason besides the fact that he’d gone to his first full day of class without either Niall or Zayn all semester the day before, and it had been more overwhelming than he’d expected. He hates that it takes that little to freak him out now. The panic attack had left him shaky and unsettled for the rest of the day, like he couldn’t really get a grip on reality, everything feeling too close and loud and in his face, but he’d still felt so absent from what was happening. And then his dad had called him and he’d felt like he had to answer, and then they’d talked for way too long, and it’s not like they’d talked about anything particularly stressful, but just the fact that he had to answer the phone and keep his voice steady and hold a coherent conversation with him had pushed him enough to skip his last class and head straight to the apartment. 

He hadn’t walked into the apartment thinking about using them - though he supposes that he didn’t usually plan it out. It’s just that Niall hadn’t been there to talk to him about his day, and he couldn’t make himself get a fucking grip, and he’d started getting worse and he didn’t know what else to do. And the drinking, he hadn’t really intended to do that either, it’s just sometimes when he took them the medication was like what he was thinking didn’t go away, it just slowed down, so he was just stuck with feeling shitty and unconnected and so fucking tired. So he’d started drinking trying hard not to feel like that anymore, or at least get to a point where it didn’t bother him as much. The rest of the night gets messy, he knows that he’d started walking, though he wasn’t really sure where he’d been headed, or how or when he’d made that decision - and he knows that he’d called Niall, though he’s not sure what he said, or how the conversation had ended, or honestly how he’d ended back up in the apartment since Zayn and his car were gone this weekend and there’s surely no way that Niall walked god knows where in the middle of the night to get him home. He’s so goddamn tired this morning, and can feel his body craving to slip back into the nothingness that he’d had the night before. Tilly is sleeping beside him, blissfully unaware of the fact that her owner is slowly losing his mind, he scratches her behind the ears as he eases himself up, careful not to wake her in his effort to get out of the bed. 

“You look terrible,” Niall’s voice comes from the other side of the room, and Harry looks up to see his friend leaning into the doorway of his room. 

Harry lets out a small laugh, and pushes his hand through his hair, “Yeah, well, don’t feel much better if we’re being honest.” 

“C’mon, let me make you breakfast”

“I’m okay Niall, not super hungry right now”

“Harry, c’mon, you got sick last night, I’m betting that you didn’t eat much yesterday, let me just make you something to eat.” 

“Niall, I really -” 

“Harry, just eat with me, okay” Niall lets out a frustrated sigh, “I’m not asking for much here, I’m really not trying to be an asshole but we need to talk about last night” 

Harry looks incredibly guilty at that, and nods his head in response, “Yeah, okay, let me put on a change of clothes, I’ll be out in the kitchen in a second.” 

Niall nods once and lets him be, half closes his door behind him to give him some privacy. A second later, Harry can hear him rummaging in the fridge looking for something to make for breakfast. Harry scrubs his hands across his face again, and mentally prepares himself for the conversation that he’s about to have. He’s had these conversations with Niall before, after nights that have been worse than these, always promising never to do it again or to get better or to finally talk to someone, and it’s not like he didn’t mean it when he said it, it’s just that he doesn’t know how else to manage everything, and the thought of telling someone outside of Niall and Zayn what happened is too much to even think about. He notices for the first time that he’s in a different set of clothes than he was the night before, and he feels shame burn deep in his chest. No matter how many times this happened, he always hated the idea of someone else having to help him change, the thought of being so useless he couldn’t even do that himself makes him feel disgusting, nevermind the idea of someone else having to see him undressed, even if it was just Niall. He’s got his NPR shirt on that he likes so much, and can’t help but spare a fond thought for Niall picking out one of his favorite shirts for him last night. Tilly is awake on his bed now too, she stretches lazily as she looks at him, and Harry smiles despite himself, he desperately needs to wash his sheets, her white and black fur has shed all over the comforter. 

He decides that he can’t put it off anymore, and gathers Tilly in his arms to take her into the kitchen with him. She lets out a surprised, but not displeased, meow and tucks her head in his shoulder. Niall is standing by the stove, half paying attention to the toast that he’s making in the pan (Niall broke their toaster nearly three months ago and both of them were too stubborn to buy a new one), and half paying attention to whoever he’s texting on his phone. 

“Hi,” Harry says lamely, not really sure how to start the conversation 

“Hi,” Niall’s voice is level, even, but Harry can tell that he’s upset. He waits for Niall to say something else, he’s always the one who starts these conversations and Harry’s not really sure what he wants him to do. Niall takes the toast from the pan and looks over at Harry, “How much do you remember about last night?” 

“Um, a lot at first and then not much. Like, I remember getting home from class and not feeling well, and like, starting to think too much and, deciding to like, yeah -” he breaks off, not really wanting to verbalize exactly what happened. 

Niall sighs hard, “We’ve talked about this Haz, that’s when you call me, when you start feeling bad like that, not after you’ve made a stupid decision.” 

Harry recoils a bit at that, he knows that he’s supposed to call him when he’s not feeling well, but he hated having to rely on someone else to manage his shit, “I didn’t want to bother you Ni, you had a meeting last night.” 

“So you just decided to get high out of your fucking mind and wait to call me until you’d walked three miles in the pouring rain in the middle of the night? How is that less bothersome than just calling me when you started not feeling well?” 

Harry flinches again, and lets Tilly jump onto the floor, “I didn’t think I’d have to call you. Thought that it would just help and then I wouldn’t have to bother anybody.” 

Niall sighs again, “Yeah well, that isn’t what happened.” 

“Yeah,” 

“I had to call Louis, Haz.” Harry looks up, panic and fear filling him to his core, “I didn’t have another choice, Zayn was gone and I don’t know anyone else with a car, and he was the only person I could think of that could help me get you home.” 

Harry shakes his head hard, trying to deny what had happened, tears prick at the edges of his eyes, he wipes them angrily away, “How much did he see?” 

Niall’s heart breaks at how small Harry’s voice sounds, fear obvious in his eyes, “Um, just that you were really out of it. It scared him. He made me tell him like, why.” 

Harry shoves his head in his hands and pulls at his hair, his shoulders shaking as he tries to keep himself from panicking. 

“He’s worried about you, Haz, he asked me to tell you to text him when you got up.” 

“He’s not supposed to know Niall, literally I would have preferred anyone to know besides him. We haven’t talked in so long and now he knows everything and he doesn’t even fucking care, Ni” 

“Hey,” Niall grabs onto his shoulders and pulls him close, “hey, I know that things have been weird between you two but he does care, he’s really worried about you.” 

“No he’s not Niall,  _ he’s _ the one who just stopped talking to me all of a sudden. The only reason that he even gave a shit about me last night is because I’m such a fucking mess.” 

“You’re not a mess Harry,” Harry laughs darkly into Niall’s shoulder, “I’m serious Haz - I know that things aren’t going well right now but you’re trying really hard to work things out. Just because things are really hard right now doesn’t mean you’re a mess.” 

He leads Harry to the dining room table and sets him down, making sure to be careful with moving too quickly and startling him. He goes back to the kitchen to get the plate he’s made for Harry, and fills him a glass of water absentmindedly. 

“And I know that you’re not a fan of Louis right now, and you have every right not to be. But you need to give him some credit, he does really care about you. And from what he said last night it sounds like he really wants to talk to you about like, what’s going on right now, but also what happened between you two.” 

“Why do I have to talk to him about any of it? My life going to shit is my own business, and he’s the one who decided that he didn’t want me in his life anymore.” 

“Haz, he doesn’t  _ know.  _ I hate to say it but you can’t be mad at someone for something they’re not even aware of.”

“Oh, and what part am I not allowed to be mad at? Am I not allowed to be mad at someone who told me I was the most important thing that ever happened to them and then proceeded to ignore me? Or is it that I’m not allowed to be mad at someone who lives with my fucking rapist and didn’t bother to listen to me when I told him that he was terrible?” Harry lets out a breath, he hates being angry so fucking much, it freaks him out more than anything, makes him think that he’s actually a terrible, violent, angry person. He digs his fingernails into the palms of his hands and finishes, a little more calmly, “it isn’t just about like, him leading me on Niall, and it really makes me feel like shit when you say it like that.” 

Niall leans across the table, and carefully places a hand on Harry’s, “I’m sorry Haz, I shouldn’t have said that. I know that things with him are really hard. He just told me that he missed you a lot.” 

Harry doesn’t reply to that, just puts his head in his hands again. Niall thinks that he’s probably started crying again, and reaches across to the other side of the table to get the kleenex. 

“Here, Harry, we don’t have to talk about what happened with you two right now. We can just sit for a second, is that okay?”, he gently bumps the kleenex box against Harry’s arm and Harry finally looks up at him. He’s trying really hard to keep from showing Niall how badly he’s freaking out, but his lip is trembling hard. “Oh, Harry, hey -”, he gets up from the table and pulls Harry’s head into his shoulder, “do you need them?” 

Harry shakes his head hard against Niall’s shoulder, his breathing still irregular, coming in quick stunted gasps. 

“It’s okay if you need them now, you’re about to have a panic attack Haz, you’re allowed to use them when you’re feeling like this.” 

Harry shakes his head even harder, and Niall sighs, holds him tighter, taking Harry’s hand and putting it against his chest, modeling breaths for him to take, deep and slow. He counts aloud too, knowing that being able to hear someone else speak helps him when he gets like this. It’s a good five minutes before Niall trusts that Harry is breathing well enough on his own that it’s okay to stop counting. 

“‘M okay now Niall” mumbles Harry against Niall’s chest, he slowly lifts his head and finally looks Niall in the eye, he looks drained, what little energy he had this morning has been spent in the last couple of minutes. 

“Are you though? Like, not just right now, but in general?” 

“I’m not worse than I was if that’s what you’re asking. I haven’t -”, he falters and drops his head again, “I haven’t done like, anything really bad recently.” 

Niall nods shortly, knowing that Harry hates to talk about that bit of it, won’t even say what it is out loud. He’s unsure of what Harry means by “recently” since he knows that it had happened less than a week ago, but decides to come back to that later. He still hasn’t touched his breakfast either, and Niall doubts he will even if he pushed him. It’s been a rough morning, and he decides that getting Harry to eat two pieces of toast isn’t worth the argument and most likely the panic attack that would follow. His phone pings again,  _ another  _ text from Louis in the string of texts that he’s been getting all morning, and decides that he can’t ignore them any longer. 

“Louis’ been texting me, about like, last night.” 

Harry hums noncommittally, and eventually shrugs. 

“I know that you don’t really want to talk to him right now but would it be okay if I met him and just, let him know that you’re doing alright - I won’t tell him anything that you don’t want me to, but I think he might need someone to talk to right now.” 

Harry is silent for a minute, then asks softly “You won’t tell him anything that I ask you not to?” 

“No of course not. Right now he knows a little bit about your meds because you were sick and I needed to tell him why we had to go get you, but that’s all.” 

Harry nods, reassuring himself, and picks at a hangnail on his thumb. 

“Would it be okay if he swung our apartment afterwards to just hang out? Not to talk about anything at all, just maybe watch a movie or something?” 

Harry hesitates again, he hates having anyone in the apartment that isn’t Zayn or Niall. 

“You don’t have to stay outside the whole time or anything. We could ask him to leave if it gets to be a lot, or you can go into your room whenever.” Niall assures, “No one would be mad if you did that.” he adds softly. 

“He isn’t mad?”

“Of course not Harry, he’s worried about you, yeah. But I promise he isn’t mad.” 

Harry doesn’t answer for a minute, but then nods his head up and down, as if assuring himself, “Okay. He can come watch a movie.” 

“Haz that’s great - I’m going to go walk to get coffee with him, but I’ll text you when we’re headed back to the apartment okay?” 

Harry nods mutely again. 

“He’ll be excited to meet Tilly, I don’t think he got the chance to see her last night. I’m sure she’ll love to have another person to give her endless attention.” 

Harry lets out a small smile, turning to go back to his room and find Tilly, letting Niall slip out the door and go meet up with Louis. 


	3. Chapter 3

Louis hasn’t slept. He’d gotten home around four thirty and promptly decided that he was too wound up to sleep or go to class the next morning. He’d made sure to send an email to the two professors’ whose classes’ he would be missing, and spent the majority of the rest of his morning scouring the internet for what he could find about what Harry was dealing with. He wasn’t going on much, besides knowing that Harry had been combining his anxiety medication and alcohol. In searching this, Louis had immediately gotten the Google banner for substance abuse resources, as well as the national suicide hotline, which was - calling whatever Harry was going through that felt so permanent and serious. He wanted this to be different somehow, than that. Sure, Harry wasn’t having the best time, but he wasn’t - whatever the internet was telling him that he was. 

Niall finally texted him back around 10 that morning, and he didn’t think he’d ever been more thankful to get a text before. It was short, just told him that Harry was alright, and asked him if he wanted to get coffee and talk about what had happened. Louis has written back an immediate yes, and told him that he’d drive to his and Harry’s to pick him up in 15 minutes or so. 

Niall looked as drained as Louis felt, his eyes weren’t red and puffy like they had been last night when he’d been crying, but they were worn out, the expression set on his face was grim. 

“Morning,” he greets as he opens the car door, slipping into the passenger seat and sticking his fingers in the slots of the heating vent. It may be March, but it’s still so fucking cold outside, especially with the chill of the rain that fell last night still in the air. He lets Niall get settled and then pulls out of the parking lot, sparing a quick glance up at the second floor of their apartment building, where he half-hoped he’d catch a glance of Harry, but no such luck. 

“Morning Ni, you doing okay?” 

Niall shrugged noncommittally, “I’m alright. Nights like those are always tough, y’know?” 

“Yeah,” Louis agrees, not really knowing if he should ask anything more, “how often do they happen?” 

“Not as much as they used to. Used to be once or twice a week, now it’s more like once or twice a month.” 

Louis nods again, not really knowing what to say in response to something like that. 

“He’s alright this morning though,” Niall adds, “a little shaken up but okay.” 

“I’m glad to hear that, are the mornings after usually bad?” 

“Not really, I don’t think. He’s upset with himself usually, like, he doesn't like it when he gets like that. And if he ends up somewhere he can’t remember he gets shaken up and worried, but he’s not as panicky as he can be.” 

Louis nods dumbly and stares at the road ahead, making a right to turn into the campus coffee shop’s parking lot. 

“Sometimes I think the medicine is still working in the mornings. Like, just a little bit maybe. He’s still a little spacey, y’know? Like, he talks and stuff so it’s not like it was, but he still seems a little out of it.” 

“Oh. Is that normal? Is it supposed to last that long?” 

Niall nods, “yeah, I think so. At least for how much he’s taking. It’s still weird though, I guess. Talking to someone who’s there but not really?”

“Yeah, I get that. I’m happy to hear that he’s talking this morning at least.” 

They walk into the coffee shop together, and let the subject drop, at least until they order their coffees and get settled. The coffee shop is one of the two on campus, and the furthest away from Harry and Niall’s apartment. Niall had given him an odd look when they’d passed the first one on their way here, but Louis had elected to ignore it. Louis hadn’t been in that coffee shop for awhile. It had been the one that he and Harry always went to their summer, Harry waking Louis up at some ungodly hour every Sunday morning to ask if he’d walk down to the shop with him. There are too many memories of him and Harry tucked up in the coffee shop for him to go there anymore, not without Harry. In theory, the coffee shop that they’re in now is nearly an exact replica of the one that he and Harry spent so much time at. But it feels different - it is different. 

“So, how are you?” Niall asks the question deliberately, clearly not wanting to continue to talk about Harry at the moment. 

“I’ve been okay, yeah. Classes have been going alright, though I have an exam coming up next week that I don’t feel entirely prepared for.” 

Niall laughed, “Not much has changed there.” 

Louis laughed as well, “No I suppose not - though my professor will be on me if I fail this one. I skipped out on his class today and he’s a hard ass about attendance.” 

A silence falls, not one that’s necessarily uncomfortable, but one that Louis feels like he needs to fill anyway, “Got a new roommate a couple weeks ago, his name’s Liam, I think you’d like him quite well.” 

Niall’s expression is unreadable for a minute, his thoughts obviously somewhere else, “I’ll have to meet him yeah, wasn’t much of a fan of Mark to be honest.” 

Louis nods, “Yeah, um, I’m glad that we don’t live together anymore, I guess.” 

“Any particular reason he moved out? Did he take a semester off or something?” 

Louis is unsure if he should tell Niall everything he knows. Surely that would be a lot to dump on someone who just had an awful night. But he hasn’t really had the space to talk about it with anyone else, except Liam who knows most of everything because of the housing situation. But he isn’t close enough with Liam to really talk about everything, at least not yet.

“Um no, he’s still in school.” He pauses for a second, and then decides against his better judgement to go ahead and tell Niall, “He, uh, had a Title IX filed against him Niall.” 

“Oh.”

“Yeah. He came home one day saying that he had to get me to sign some paper for the university saying that I knew. Some policy or something about like, informing housemates when you have a sexual assault allegation against you. And I, I mean, I couldn’t live with him after that - he moved out a couple days later. It was just me for a while and then the university connected me to Liam through like, the roommate pool search and he moved in and it’s alright now.” 

“Do you know who filed?” 

“Um, no. All that stuff is kept super confidential and Mark didn’t say, I’m not really sure how the process works so I don’t know if Mark even knows.” 

Niall nods, his thoughts immediately on Harry. There’s some degree of anger in his chest that he knows is unfair. Surely, it had to be Harry who filed, without telling him. After months of Niall encouraging him to. He frowns, sure that that’s another conversation that he’ll have to have with Harry in the coming days that’s going to be less than pleasant. 

“But Liam’s alright?” 

“Well he’s not a rapist, so that’s something.” Louis makes a half-attempt at a joke, but can see from Niall’s expression that he doesn’t really approve and changes tactics, “Yeah. He’s good. Weirdly clean, y’know? I don’t think the apartment has ever looked so nice. I came down the first morning he was there to the cleanest kitchen I’ve ever seen. Reminded me of Haz a bit.” He smiled, cherishing the memory of a happier Harry. One who, during their summer on the nights he couldn’t sleep, would steal down to the communal kitchen and sweep the floors and wipe down the counters and re-organize the fridge just to have something to do.

Niall laughs again, “Yeah. He’s still like that now. Would’ve roomed with him if he was an absolute mess anyway, but him being a bit of a neat freak is nice. Sometimes when I’m up late in my room I’ll hear him and Tilly cleaning the whole apartment just for kicks.” 

“Tilly?” 

“Oh, yeah of course, you haven’t met her yet. Harry has a cat now. Got her at the start of this year and he will not shut up about her for the life of him. Thing follows him all around the apartment, I reckon she’d walk with him to class too if she could.” 

Louis’ heart melts at the idea of Harry finally having a cat. He’d wanted one for so long - talked about it incessantly the entire time that they’d lived together, and even briefly fostered two kittens in his dorm room that they’d found while walking around campus. They’d been discovered by their house supervisor a couple of days later and Harry had been forced to find them new homes, but he still kept in contact with the girl that he’d placed them with, and, as far as Louis knew, still visited them occasionally. 

“You don’t sound too crazy about the cat,” Louis laughs. 

“I am, I am. I mean, I’m glad that Harry was finally able to get a cat, but it’s an ugly little thing, and a right asshole to anyone who isn’t Harry. You would think she would eventually warm up to me since we live together, but no such luck, won’t even let me pick her up.” 

“Doesn’t like Zayn either?” 

Niall cackled, “Absolutely fucking not. She hates Zayn, hides under Harry’s bed whenever he visits. She’ll at least stay in the same room with me. And, so long as Harry’s holding her, she’ll let me pet her too.” 

Louis had long finished his coffee, and began wondering what to do next. He wanted to keep talking to Niall, besides the fact that he wanted to know more about what was going on with Harry, he also missed hanging out with him. 

Seemingly reading Louis’ mind, Niall gestured towards his empty cup, “I’m done with my coffee, but I’d love to keep hanging out. Maybe we could watch a movie at mine?” 

The implication of “with Harry” hangs in the air, and Louis swallows around his nervousness,”yeah, that’d be good, I think.” 

They head back to Louis’ car. Louis drives for a minute or two before he finally cracks, “Is there anything that we like shouldn’t talk about with Harry?” He feels stupid, like he should know what to do and what topics to avoid, and he feels the need to explain himself further, “Just so I don’t like, make him feel uncomfortable or anything.” 

Niall’s silent for a minute, clearly choosing his words carefully, “Well, I think you know not to talk about what happened, so I guess that’s a start.”, he thinks again for a minute, “um, I think that not talking about like, school too may be good. Like, you can talk about your classes and stuff but he won’t want to talk much about his. And I don’t think it’d be great to bring up like, the Liam situation, just because it’d be a lot for him to take in, I think.” Niall tries to convince himself that it isn’t lying per say to Louis when he’s explaining why he shouldn’t be talking about the whole Liam situation, but it still makes his skin crawl. 

“Okay, I’ll keep that in mind. Anything else?” 

“He probably won’t talk much, he usually doesn’t even when it’s just me and him. I usually just monologue to him when I get home. But I think he’s okay with that, y’know? He likes to hear about your day, and normal stuff like that. I’m sure he’ll want your opinion on whatever that new indie album, from like, that one guy, Steven whoever? What’s it called?” 

Louis laughs, a little exasperated “Sufian Stevens? The Ascension album?” 

Niall nods, “Knew you’d know it. He tried to make me listen to it, and holy fuck I couldn’t do it. Do me a favor and talk to him about it so I don’t have to come up with opinions.” 

“Okay, I do have a lot of opinions about that album to be fair.” 

“God. Why do all of my friends have to be pretentious fucks when it comes to music?” 

Louis snorts, “Just because we don’t listen to the top 40 hits 24/7 does not make us pretentious.” 

Niall catches Louis’ eye in the rear-view mirror, “that’s exactly what a pretentious fuck would say.” 

“Okay, okay, well either way, we’re here.” 

They had arrived in the parking lot of Harry and Niall’s apartment. It was like any of the other apartments on campus, which is to say, slightly shitty. 

“You coming?” Niall’s voice interrupts Louis’ train of thought and brings him back to reality - he lets out a breath. 

“Yeah, I’m ready.”, he follows Niall up the staircase he’d helped him carry Harry up less than a day ago and into the apartment.


	4. Chapter 4

Niall wedges the door open carefully, sticking his head in and calling out for Harry before opening it fully to let Louis in. The apartment is empty, with no sign of Harry in the kitchen or the living room. 

“He must be laying down, let me go grab him quickly, yeah? You can just grab a seat on the couch.” Niall flicks on the kitchen light absentmindedly, and heads to Harry’s bedroom. 

Louis hates that he can feel his ears reaching to grab onto pieces of conversation in the next room, but he can’t help it. He sits quietly on the couch, listening to Niall murmuring something to Harry. He hears Harry shift on the bed and, he assumes, turn over. There’s a little stretch of silence, and then finally, finally, he hears the low rumble of Harry’s voice. It’s muted, he can’t quite catch what he’s saying, but his heart swells at the idea that Harry’s awake and right here and  _ speaking _ . 

It only takes a second for Niall to reappear, a small smile on his face. He’s leading Harry by the hand; Harry a step behind him, his eyes on his feet, and his other hand wrapped around a monstrosity of a cat. 

“Jesus Christ Niall, you didn’t tell me the cat was fucking huge.” 

Niall barks a laugh, and squeezes Harry’s hand before he goes to join Louis on the couch. 

“I know, swear Harry found the biggest cat on purpose.”, Niall’s eyes flick to Harry for a second, hoping to get a reply out of him, but Harry keeps his eyes on the ground and his mouth shut. He adjusts his grip on the cat, so that she’s cradled like a baby in his arms. He’s nervous, Louis can tell, though he’s trying his hardest to hide it. 

“Do you wanna come sit next to me Haz?” Niall offers, taping the couch lightly to catch his attention. 

There’s a beat, as if Harry is weighing whatever options he has in his head, and then he gives a short nod. Niall scoots over closer to Louis, and gives Harry plenty of room to situate himself. The cat, still in Harry’s lap, blinks once, stretches in his arms and lets out a loud, contented meow, and Harry smiles. It’s a real smile too - all bright eyes and dimples, his nose scrunching up a bit. 

“Alright boys,” Niall starts, and Louis might be imagining things, but he thinks he sees Harry flinch a bit at the words, “what are we watching?” 

“Anything besides a rom-com  _ please. _ ” Louis begs, “I’ve been watching them non-stop recently and I need an intervention.” 

Niall laughs at that, “Well, I hate to say it, but that about destroys 80% of our DVD collection. Harry’s a big rom-com guy, huh Haz?” he nudges Harry a bit, and Harry gives him a forced smile, and bobs his head a bit, but still doesn’t say anything. 

“Well,” Louis pushes on, trying to cover up the tension in the room that he’s feeling, “I’ve been watching a lot of New Girl recently - I know that’s not a movie, but it’s a good show, and seems like something both of you would like?” 

“Yeah, I’ve watched a couple episodes, I’m good with that. Haz?” Niall asks 

And the painful thing is, Louis  _ knows _ that Harry loves that show. Harry had gone on this long-winded rant about the rankings of all the different sit-coms he watched when they’d lived together. Even drawn up a chart on the white board in their living room to demonstrate the successes and shortcomings of each one, as well as a timeline of the best and worst seasons of each show. And so he hates it when Harry’s eyes don’t immediately light up with the mention. Instead, he glances briefly at Niall, and then at the wall just above Louis’ head and gives another nod. 

“Alright, that’s an enthusiastic yes if I’ve ever heard one. Do we want to order food as well? It’s past lunch and I’m starving.” 

“Yeah, I’m good with whatever, just s’long as it’s not Taco Bell. Jesus, I got such bad food poisoning last time.” Louis shivers at the memory. 

They both glance at Harry, who offers a shrug this time, clearly ambivalent. 

“Alright. We’ll get food and then see how you feel, hm?” it’s the first time Louis’ directly addressed Harry, and he’s worried a bit that it’ll set him off, or make him feel bad or something, but Harry looks up, not quite making eye contact with Louis, instead choosing to fix at a point on his shoulder, but he gives a small smile, and nods his head once. 

“Alright. That’s great!" Niall butts in "How do you feel about pizza Lou? It’s the easiest thing, I think.” 

“That’s good with me - maybe we can get what, two or three?” 

And then he and Niall are off, lost in a conversation about the details of their pizza order. Louis keeps half an eye on Harry the whole time, who doesn’t try to engage at all about what type of pizza he’d like or where from. He seems to kind of space out, not in the same way that he’d been last night, it just seems like he can’t get up the strength to pay attention to what’s going on around him. He pets the cat,  _ Tilly,  _ Louis mentally reminds himself, but he won't look up, and keeps his eyes focused on hers. 

When they’ve finally got the pizza ordered, Niall turns on the TV and clicks over to Netflix, picking an episode of New Girl at random. He keeps the volume pretty low, just in case they want to talk, but the cations are on so Louis doesn’t mind that much. Him and Niall keep a thread of a conversation going, chatting a bit about the show, and then turning to other TV that they’ve watched recently. 

Niall finally gets a text from the delivery guy an episode and a half later, and he grabs his wallet and keys to run out to the parking lot and grab the pizzas. He touches Harry lightly on the knee before he goes, a silent reminder that he’s just going downstairs, not leaving him, and that he’ll be back in just a second. 

Louis and Harry are left in silence. Which Harry seems perfectly content with, or is at least pretending to be. But, the thing is, Louis  _ hates  _ silence. Can’t stand it for the life of him. And he especially cannot stand this tense, “we’re leaving a lot unsaid here and we both know it” kind of silence. 

“You cut your hair,” Louis observes. 

Harry looks at him, really looks at him this time, in the eye and everything. He runs his free hand through his hair, like he’s forgotten he did it. He gives a shaky half smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. Louis piles this onto the list of “things Harry is upset by”, and decides it's best to move on. 

“So, where’d this fluff ball come from then?” he gestures, he hopes not unkindly, towards Tilly. 

“Me and Zayn found her.” it takes more than a second for him to form the words, and his voice is slow, like always, and quieter than Louis remembers, but he can’t help but break into a grin at the sound. 

“I thought that she hated Zayn?” Louis teases. 

Harry smiles again at that, and exhales sharply through his nose, “She doesn’t  _ hate _ Zayn - they just, um, mutually have agreed to dislike one another.” 

“Ah, my apologies. Niall made her out to be a demon - but she looks alright to me. Can I, could I, pet her?” Louis is surprised by the timidness in his own voice, the fear that Harry will say “no” or pull away building in him. 

But Harry smiles again, happy to have another person captivated by Tilly, and scoots towards him. Louis closes the gap between them, still a good foot or so from Harry, but close enough to reach out his hand and scratch between Tilly’s ears. She pushes her head against his hand, asking for more attention, and Louis laughs. 

“She likes you.” 

  
“Of course, who wouldn’t?” Louis smiles up at Harry, their eyes connecting again. “It’s good to see you again Haz, I’ve missed you.” 

Harry holds his gaze for a second, but then looks down at Tilly, a flash of something close to fear in his eyes - “I’ve missed you too Louis. I’m glad that you came over, and that you were, um, that you were -” 

“Of course,” Louis fills in, recognizing that Harry doesn’t want to voice what happened last night out loud, “always there for you. We can talk whenever you need, but we don’t have to; and if you want to talk about like, last year, then we can. But, again, we don’t have to.” 

He gets another smile from Harry. This one’s smaller, more private, but ever so gentle. “I’d like that. You can, um, if you still have my number and everything you can text me, ‘s the same.” 

“I’d like that a lot. Of course I still have your number.” Louis suppresses the thought of the burgeoning note in his phone with drafts of texts to Harry, each one more pathetic than the last. 

Niall choses that moment to enter, a fact that Louis is both happy and sad about. He was glad to have been able to have that moment with Harry, however short; but Harry had started to look a little overwhelmed, and Niall seemed like a good distraction to keep him from panicking. 

Harry sets Tilly down on the couch and rushes to the kitchen to pull out mismatching plates and glasses for the three of them, grabbing a pitcher of water from the fridge on his way. Niall sets down the pizzas, and calls for Louis to join them from the dining room. 

Lunch starts off a little shaky. While Niall and Louis immediately dig into the pizza boxes, pulling out slices to put on their plates, Harry sits silently, a look of deep concentration on his face. It isn’t until Niall sighs and takes Harry’s plate from in front of him, putting two slices on it before returning it to him that Harry comes back to himself. He looks down at his hands, sat in his lap and picks at his fingernails for a moment until finally pulling his plate a little closer to himself. It takes a second for him to pick it up off the plate, before he takes a tentative bite, chewing slowly and then swallowing. He’s refusing to make eye-contact with either him or Niall, and Louis deflates a little at the seeming back-step from earlier. Still, Niall treats it as relatively normal, so Louis lets it go, re-concentrating on his own plate, and a question that Niall had just asked him. 

And then, suddenly, it’s like nothing was ever the matter. Harry’s eating normally, and interacting pretty well - he still won’t say anything unless he’s asked a question directly, but he’s got his eyes up on Niall, who’s currently telling the story of the time where he and Zayn got locked in the costume closet in the theatre department and had to climb through the vents to get out, with a content smile on his face. He gets through three pieces in the time it takes Niall to finish off an entire pizza by himself, and for Louis to finish six slices, but it's still enough that Louis’ not as worried as he was at the start. After eating, it’s like Harry gets this sudden burst of energy, his knee shaking under the table; he excuses himself quickly to clean the kitchen, taking the plates and pizza boxes with him. Louis makes a move to get up and help Harry clean up, but Niall waves him off, 

“You’re fine - Harry wouldn’t let a guest clean up anyway. And, besides, he can be a right terror in the kitchen if you don’t know where things are supposed to go.” 

  
So Louis lets it go, lets himself get sucked into easy banter with Niall, beginning to relax. 

They return to the couch to finish their episode of New Girl. Harry takes his time in the kitchen, Niall and Harry’s apartment doesn’t have a dishwasher and Harry’s careful to wash all the plates and silverware before returning to the living room to excuse himself to go clean himself up, mumbling something about wanting to change his shirt because he’d gotten dish water on it.

He returns a couple of minutes later and is quiet again. He seems off in a way that Louis can’t quite place. It’s less noticeable, he’s still engaged in the TV program, returns Louis and Niall’s smiles, and laughs at their jokes; but it’s almost like he’s just a half-second behind. He breaks into a grin just a little too late when Niall makes a joke, opens his mouth to answer a question a moment after he’s supposed to. 

Louis tries to let it go - he feels like he can’t ask Harry what’s wrong when he’s not even able to pinpoint why he knows that Harry isn’t okay. Eventually, Louis gets the feeling that he should go. Not necessarily in a bad way, it’s just he’s been at their apartment for a couple hours, and it seems like Harry could use a break from any social interaction. 

“Hey - I should get going. I told a friend that I’d meet him for dinner.” 

Niall gives him a glowing smile, “Of course, we should do this again soon, right Haz?” 

Harry nods and smiles too, which Louis hopes is a genuine “yes I would like to see you again” smile. 

“Alright, that sounds good. I’ll see you both soon, and Harry? I’ll text you, okay?” 

Harry nods again, and gives him that same private smile that he’d given him early. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> trigger/content warning:   
> this chapter does go into more detail about some of Harry's thought patterns and behaviors surrounding disordered eating and self-harm. there aren't any explicit descriptions of those behaviors, but it does go pretty into detail as to what he's thinking and where he's at emotionally. 
> 
> other notes at the end of chapter

When this first started there were a set of Rules. He doesn’t think he’d ever consciously made them - he hadn’t sat down and drafted them or written them out or anything. But they were there, and Harry knew them, and he tried his very hardest to follow them. 

_ Don’t tell anyone besides Niall and Zayn.  _

_ Don’t let anyone in the apartment that isn’t either of them.  _

_ Don’t text or talk or think about Louis.  _

_ Don’t cry in front of anyone.  _

_ Don’t hurt yourself where Niall can find it.  _

_ Don’t purge unless Niall is in his room and there isn’t a chance he could hear you.  _

_ Don’t purge more than twice a day.  _

_ Don’t purge if you’ve run more than ten miles that day.  _

_ Don’t tell anyone about The Other Thing _

_ Absolutely, under no circumstances, tell anyone about The Other Thing  _

He’d never broken so many rules in one day. 

He’d never not been able to think about Louis. He was always in the back of his mind somewhere, memories and thoughts and hopes all colliding against each other and making him impossible to ignore. For fucks sake, he’d  _ wanted _ to talk to Louis today - had been hyping himself up for it all morning. And it had gone well -  _ it had _ \- or at least, it had gone as well as it could have gone given the circumstances. 

But then there was lunch. And it wasn’t like he wasn’t expecting to have to eat with Niall and Louis. He knew that Niall would be bringing Louis back in the early afternoon, knew that Louis would be staying for a couple of hours, knew that for most people that was usually the time when you would eat lunch. It’s just - he hadn’t really internalized the reality of it. How eating also always came with the thoughts about all the individual ingredients that he was putting in his body, disgust blooming in his chest at the thought of how it would feel sitting in his stomach, the anxiety that would radiate through his body, translating into this itchiness under his skin that he couldn’t get rid of until he took care of the “problem”. And so he’d done it. Even with Niall in the living room. Even with Louis over. 

And they hadn’t heard him. Or, at least, he didn’t think so. Neither of them mentioned it. Louis had been gone for nearly an hour, and Niall hadn’t come to his door with his “We Need to Talk” face on. Still, Harry feels like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Niall to come barging into his room, finally fed up with Harry’s bullshit because he couldn’t take  _ another  _ thing on top of everything else. Or, even worse, for Louis to text him and tell him that he thought that he was so fucking disgusting because he hadn’t been able to keep down a proper meal in ages. 

The thing is, this is one of the last two secrets that he has. And he doesn’t know why that fact matters so much to him, but it does. It’s like, even though they’re not great things, they’re still  _ his _ . And there’s something comforting about that fact. That the truth exists only in himself and not anywhere beyond it. 

And maybe, like his most recent therapist would probably argue, it’s a control thing. He doesn’t know what he thinks about that - which is part of the reason why he’d stopped going to see her. She’s probably, at least partially, right. He does like the idea of having enough of a grip on what’s happening that he’s still able to keep things from Niall and Zayn. But he also doesn’t think it’s just about that. Like, yes, he likes that aspect of it, but that’s not exactly why he hasn’t told either of them, or even why it started in the first place. 

Which is the other thing that he’s frustrated about. All the other stuff, the anxiety, the panic attacks, the hurting himself, the whatever is happening with his anxiety meds, all of that has a source he can pinpoint. This bit, the eating stuff, whatever it is, he can’t figure out. His very first therapist, the one that the university had “strongly encouraged” he see after a disastrous incident his freshman year, had suggested that it was because he was trans, and he’d never been more angry in his life. 

He hadn’t told anyone about what she had said either - mostly because he was afraid that they’d think it was true too. He was tired of his mental health always being explained away by his gender, especially since he already had to deal with that from his family. It was like people were saying if only he wasn’t trans, he’d be fine. Which was bullshit. Of all the things contributing to him losing his shit, spending the first sixteen years of his life identifying as female was pretty low on the list. His gender, especially now that he’d had top surgery for more than a year, wasn’t something that he really thought about that often - usually only when someone else mentioned it. And he thought he was in a pretty good place about it, all things considered. He was, at least, not ashamed of it anymore. Sure, he and his family still fought about his “life choices” every time they saw each other, but he wasn’t constantly afraid that he was doing something wrong anymore. That part of his life, his gender, made so much sense to him. In a way that all the other stuff didn’t, and he hated the suggestion that it was the source of everything wrong in his life. 

And he knows, or at least thinks he knows, that Niall wouldn’t ever think that about him. Or, at least, he’d never say it out loud to him. 

But still, he’s afraid. When he had finally come home after the party - the one in Louis’ apartment, the one he’d made sure he was absolutely wasted before going to because he couldn’t look Louis in the eye sober, the one where Louis’ roommate had found him crying in the bathroom and done, and done really awful things - Niall had been sympathetic. He’d let him stay in bed for days, sent emails to all his professors saying that he’d be out of an “indefinite period” because of a “family emergency”, he’d brought home so many fucking phamplets from student health with titles like “Men Experience Sexual Assault Too”, “Male Survivor Support Groups”, and “You’re Not Alone”. They never talked about how his gender fit into what happened. Even, on the fifth day after he’d come home, when he finally got out of his bed and sat with Niall on the couch and cried for hours, they never talked about the glaringly obvious fact that he was trans. That Louis’ roommate had known that he was. That his experience with sexual assualt was probably different from cis men’s. But the implications of it were everywhere - in the questions that Niall asked after he’d finally pulled himself together, in the way that Niall refused to let him go to a party alone anymore (not that he’d gone to many more after that had happened), in the way that Niall would not stop asking if he “felt safe” whenever someone misgendered him, something that he’d never done before. 

Harry was worried at the time, and still was to be honest, that those questions, behaviors, habits, pointed to a deeper line of thinking that Niall wasn’t voicing. He didn’t like to think that Niall had probably spent time thinking about what happened, that he’d probably considered -  _ imagined -  _ exactly what the guy said and did to him. And Harry knows that wanting Niall to never think about what happened was probably unfair to him. 

  
  


Even if he’d been cis, he was sure that that was probably something that would have crossed Niall’s mind at some point. But, this was different. Like, Harry just didn’t like the way that it seemed to change everything between them. And he was really afraid that was because Niall thought of him differently - like, maybe that Niall thought that Harry was still a “guy”, just not really, not in the ways that mattered at least. And that made him afraid that things would change even more if Niall ever found out about this eating thing. 

Niall knows that he’s been losing weight. Of course, that much is pretty obvious. He also, on account of living with him and being a surprisingly observant person, has picked up on some of Harry’s changing eating habits. Mostly his habit of standing in front of the pantry for god knows how long, only to shut it without getting anything, as well as the increasing amount of time that he spends running in his freetime. But, Harry’s been sure to drop hints that those habits aren’t anything to really worry about; telling him that the medicine he’s on makes him lose his appetite, or that he’s just been spacing out a lot in general lately (not just in front of the pantry). Neither of which are  _ untrue _ , it’s just that they aren’t completely accurate either. The running was harder to explain away, especially since he tends to get really freaked out when his schedule doesn’t allow him to fit in a run. Eventually, he’d ended up deciding to tell Niall that running made him feel better, less in his head, and that he needed that wherever he could get it. 

And that is fully a lie - if anything, running made him feel worse, especially since he’d gotten to a point where he’d started to feel bad if he couldn’t get to a certain point in his runs. If he couldn’t keep his mile splits under nine minutes, if he didn’t run at least six miles, if he didn’t run for at least 50 minutes. The list of benchmarks he had to meet kept building, and it was getting harder and harder to maintain them. 

Part of his hesitancy to tell Niall, he thinks, comes from the fact that Niall likes to label things; or as he would argue “call things what they are.” And Harry really does not like to do that. Whenever he and Niall have their “discussions” about everything that’s going on, Niall wants him to use “clear language.” Which means he wants him to use labels like “self-harm”, “dissociation”, and “panic attacks”; and Harry can’t do that. To him, what he’s doing  _ is _ different from those labels. People who experience those things deserve support, and they certainly don’t deserve what they’re experiencing. But he only hurts himself when he’s fucked up, he only has panic attacks because he’s too fucking weak to get a handle on anything. He doesn’t deserve the kindness and empathy that comes with using those labels. 

Harry’s also becoming increasingly more worried that Niall is going to find out sooner or later whether he wants him to or not. He’s been, not scaring himself per say, but  _ concerning _ himself recently, especially with the eating stuff. He’d been consistently breaking his “no purging more than twice a day” rule for a couple of weeks now; which he’d tried to dismiss at first as a by-product of going on a weekend trip with Niall for Harry’s birthday where he’d had to eat consistently to appease Niall, and so had purged more frequently. But it had been nearly a month and a half since that trip and he’s still been purging more frequently. It’s been getting increasingly harder to make sure that Niall is in a place where he can’t hear him when he’s having to purge so many times in one day. 

And then there’s the physical bit that Harry’s been trying really hard to ignore. It’s nothing too bad right now - at least Harry’s been trying to convince himself that it’s not that bad. It’s just, when he’s been running recently, he’ll feel these surges of electricity almost, where it feels like all of his nerves are sending a jolt through his body. He’d googled it the first time it had happened, and been told that it was pretty typical for someone who purged frequently -  _ nothing to worry about, it’s normal  _ \- he’d assured himself. The other bit - the increasing inability to keep down food even if he wants to, is something that he hasn’t dared to look up. The first time it had happened, he’d been pleasantly surprised - glad that he hadn’t had to do the unpleasant bit of making himself purge to achieve his goal. But, after awhile, eating anything that resembled a normal meal made him get involuntarily sick, something that he wasn’t sure he was a fan of. It made it harder to compartmentalize what he was doing as “not a problem”. Before, it was like, he was choosing to do it, so it felt like it wasn’t really an issue, as long as he was able to stop whenever he wanted to, it wasn’t a big deal. But, now that it was becoming more and more of a non-choice, it was becoming harder to convince himself that his eating habits weren’t “bad”, just “different”. 

Harry shook his head to clear his thoughts. He absolutely hates thinking about anything like this. Again, devoting time to piece out why things happened or what his thoughts leading up to everything made all of this seem less normal. And he could not deal with the idea that he wasn’t “normal” right now. 

He had fought so hard to be okay, to be normal, after he moved out of his parents house. He’d dealt with all of the anxiety and the eating and the hurting himself when he lived at home too, though his parents still weren’t aware of the extent of it by any means. And when he’d gotten to school he had made it a goal, not to stop, but to get it under control. He only allowed himself to purge once every couple of weeks - he made plans with friends during and after eating so he couldn’t, even if he wanted to. He hadn’t been able to take the stuff he used to hurt himself on the plane when he’d flown to university, so he’d thrown them out before he left home. He hadn’t bought anything immediately upon his arrival at university, but had noted that a 24-hour supermarket was about a mile and a half walk away from his dorm. He’d made a promise to himself then, if he felt like hurting himself, he’d have to walk all the way to the supermarket from his dorm and buy everything in the moment. He’d found himself making that walk dozens of times, most of the time in the very early hours of the morning, but he usually convinced himself not to buy the stuff by the time he made it there. Instead getting himself an energy drink or a packet of gum or a new box of string lights for his dorm and walking back. 

So, when he had met Louis two years into university, he had a pretty good system. Not perfect, there were still some occasional slips, but it was still solid. He and Louis had talked a bit about mental health that summer, Louis had been having a really tough time and had wanted to go see one of the university’s therapists, and had asked Harry about it. But all of their conversations were very vague; Louis had seen Harry have a panic attack twice already when they had their first conversation about mental health, but they didn’t really delve into the specifics of it. Harry supposes that Louis probably had some guesses, he knew that his relationship with his parents was shit, but they didn’t ever explicitly talk about it. Louis had, eventually, ended up going to go see a university therapist and had found it really helpful. They’d gone out to dinner after Louis had come back to celebrate. Louis was still a little emotional from the appointment, but a good kind of emotional, the kind that made him more open and honest, continually thanking Harry for talking him into going. Harry had cherished the knowledge that he had contributed to that infectious joyful feeling. 

He had wanted so badly to be okay after Louis had stopped talking to him. And it wasn’t like Louis had caused anything that was happening, Harry had been feeling increasingly shitty before he and Louis had even met each other. But him leaving hadn’t helped either. Had given him another thing to overanalyze and panic about - continually made him question what he did wrong. Because Louis wouldn’t just  _ leave  _ if there hadn’t been a reason. He wasn’t like that. So, Harry had to have done something absolutely terrible to make Louis shut him out so completely. And Harry knew that he was a horrible person, but the fact that he couldn’t figure out what he’d done was just more confirmation. 

It’s then that he hears a knock at his door, and he pulls himself away from his quickly spiraling thoughts. Niall is standing in his doorway again, his mouth set in a hard line. 

“I’m really trying not to be angry about this H, but when were you going to tell me?” 

Fuck. 

So Niall  _ did _ know about the purging. And god, for all the planning that Harry did for this eventuality, he still wasn’t prepared with a good answer.  _ Play dumb _ , he reminded himself  _ don’t admit anything, and he can’t get mad.  _

“Tell you what?” 

“Don’t be stupid Harry - what do you think?” 

“I - I really don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Goddamnit Harry, when were you going to tell me that you filed that fucking Title IX?” 

Harry’s eyebrows knit together, a burst of shame flooding through him. “You know that I didn’t file anything Niall. You’re the only one who knows.” 

Niall threw up his hands, “Haz - I know that’s not true. Why do you have to be so fucking impossible all the time? I have been trying so  _ fucking hard  _ to help you through everything and not freak out on you when you’re so high you can’t even speak or when I find fucking razors all over your goddamn room and you don’t even trust me enough to tell me the truth?” 

Harry’s heart seizes at that, he absolutely hates being reminded of the pain he’s putting Niall through just because he can’t get himself together. He feels panic rising in his chest and he tries to suppress it - knows that it’t not fair to freak Niall out when they’re fighting; remembering how his dad used to scream at him for being a manipulative little shit because he’d have a panic attack whenever they argued. 

“I promise I didn’t. I have all the empty forms you gave me still in my desk drawer, I can show them to you.” He’s so desperate to prove to Niall that he wouldn’t do that, he hadn’t even considered filing when Niall had first suggested it, “ _ Please  _ believe me Niall I wouldn’t lie to you about that.” his lip wobbles dangerously, it’s growing harder and harder not to just burst out crying. 

“Who filed then?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean that he’s got a fucking Title IX against him. If you didn’t file, who did?” 

The words slam into Harry, so absolutely and overwhelmingly fast. Harry can’t help the panic that immediately overtakes him then. He can’t do anything to stop it. He’d had so many nightmares about this exact situation. That someone else would get hurt because for the life of him he couldn’t make himself fill out that form. He lets out a sob, he knows how pitiful it sounds, and feels another rush of shame because he’s broken yet another one of his unspoken rules. 

“He did it again Niall, he did it to someone else.” He manages through his tears. 

  
“Oh, Haz” the remaining anger in Niall’s face drops, and he reaches out quickly for Harry. But by now, Harry is so absolutely consumed by panic that Niall’s touch feels  _ too close and too loud and too scary,  _ when Niall puts a hand on his shoulder he nearly screams. He’s on the ground now, though he’s not entirely sure how he got there, and he can hear a voice faintly above him. He thinks it's Niall, but he can’t focus on the words or the meaning of them. His face is starting to feel all tingly and hot, and he feels himself pulling further and further away from where he is. Harry can’t make himself breathe, he can’t even feel his fucking lungs, can’t make them cooperate with the rest of his body. So he cries and cries and cries. Until he can’t hear Niall over the sound, until his ribs ache, until he can feel his heart fluttering at the effort of it all, until he’s so far away that he can’t feel that Niall has stooped down to gather him up against his chest, cradling his body so gently and so very carefully. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry is a trans man (ftm) in this work, something that will be increasingly explored in the coming chapters. I will tag any future references to homophobia/transphobia that may be included, as I know that that can also be triggering for readers. 
> 
> take care  
> xx


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: conversations surrounding death (louis' mom and sister) and overdose. there is a very brief mention of implied abuse. 
> 
> hope you are well + staying safe.

Louis wasn’t lying, he did have dinner plans, but he also thought that it was best to give Harry some space after hanging out for so long. Harry hadn’t been rude or anything ( _as if Harry could be rude_ ) _,_ but he had started to look a little fried - his eyes glazing over in the last hour or so of Louis being there, his thoughts obviously very far away. And so he’d gone ahead and left, even though he desperately wanted to stay, cling to Harry and tell him that he was sorry for everything that had happened, that he was here for him. 

He was supposed to meet up with Liam at the diner a couple of blocks from Niall and Harry’s in about a half hour, and didn’t really have anywhere else to be, so he went ahead and started walking over, deciding that it wouldn’t be the worst thing to be a couple of minutes early. Liam was, not surprisingly, already there. 

“I thought I would beat you here for once.” 

Liam laughed lightly, “Nah, you know I’m annoying as hell when it comes to being early, got here like ten minutes ago.” 

“Well, the effort was there, At least I wasn’t late this time.” 

Liam laughs again, and they find their way inside the diner. They had started getting dinner together once a week before Liam even officially moved in. It had started out as a way for Louis to make sure he really wanted Liam to move in, but had eventually evolved into an unspoken tradition that both of them really enjoyed. They ordered at the counter and then moved to their seats, settling in. 

“So how was your day today? I went to class and your car wasn’t in the parking lot.” 

“Oh, yeah, I um - I didn’t go to class today, I had something come up with a friend.” 

“Shit man, is everything okay?” 

“Um, yeah. I think so. He seemed alright when I left, I think - just a little shaken up.” 

Liam nods, reminding himself to be careful with his next questions. Louis isn’t a quiet guy, but he is guarded. Not just about some things, about everything. He’ll talk for forever, tell you about all of his opinions on the dining hall food or what professors were terrible, but it was hard to get him to talk about something deeper than that. He’ll avoid talking about his family, won’t tell Liam about his parents or his siblings. He doesn’t like to talk to him about his other friends, he won’t tell him about the crushes he has. Perhaps most worrisome, he hasn’t said a word about his previous roommate. Which Liam thinks he understands on some level, it must have been hard living with someone like that and not knowing, but still, he wanted to be there for Louis. Wanted to talk to him, to give him the support that he needed and deserved. 

“What’s your friend’s name?”

Louis hesitates, but he ends up answering, “Um, Harry. I think you might know him, both of you are music performance majors.” 

Liam does know Harry. He’s had a couple of classes with him over the years. “Oh, yeah. I know him, we’re in a class together. He seems like a sweet guy, quiet though.” 

Louis nods mutely, looks at the peeling paint on the table between them. 

Liam tries again, “It’s my honors thesis class. We’re both producing albums for our theses, though he’s a little further ahead than I am. He’s really talented - his music isn’t exactly my style, but it’s still really cool. I think that he’s actually splitting his thesis between the music department and the women and gender studies department.” 

That gets a smile from Louis, “Yeah, that sounds like him. How does it sound?” 

Liam shrugs, “Most of that stuff goes over my head to be honest. We’re supposed to like, discuss the meaning of songs and stuff, but I think he’s got a dispensation for like, speaking in class, so it’s hard to put together exactly what everything’s about. But, Zach, the guy who comes to class with him sometimes, said that it’s meant to be like, an exploration of his sexuality.” 

“Zayn.”

“Hm?” Liam’s brow furrows. 

“Zayn. The guy who comes with Harry to class. Tall, skinny? Black hair, lots of tattoos?”

Liam nods. 

“Yeah, that’s Zayn. He’s a year below us, he’s a graphic design major.” 

“Oh, sorry. He only introduced himself once at the very beginning of the semester.” 

“That’s okay mate, he just hates being called Zach - I think too many people made that mistake when he was a kid, gets really pissed off about it now.” 

There’s a beat of silence wherein the waitress brings them their food. Louis picks over his fries, and looks like he wants to keep talking about Harry, or at least hear more about him. Liam decides that Louis probably isn’t going to initiate that conversation though, and so begins again. 

“But yeah, his music is really cool. It’s got a real Joni Mitchell vibe to it, I think - and his lyrics are crazy good. But,” he adds, “I’m going to personally kick whoever’s ass fucked him up that bad.” 

Louis startles at that, “Why would you say that?” 

Liam shrugs, “His lyrics are just really painful, I guess. Like, I guess you can just tell that he’s had his heart broken. And like, even though I don’t really get the nuances of what he’s talking about in terms of um like, sexuality or whatever, I can still tell that whatever happened really did a number on him.” 

“What are his songs about?” 

“Mostly about like, seeing someone or like, being with them again after a while and everything seeming like it’s the same, but like, the relationship itself just being really different. Or, at least, that’s what the first couple of songs are about. And then it like, moves to songs that I don’t really get - I think I just don’t know him well enough to really understand what they mean. Like, he has this one song called “She” and I don’t really understand why he’d write something like that. Like, at the beginning of the class he said he was gay so I don’t really understand why he’d be writing a song about a girl.” 

“Oh - I mean like, it could be a gender thing or whatever.” 

“I mean, I wouldn't think so - like, gender and sexuality aren’t the same thing Louis. I may be straight and like, not super involved in LGBT stuff, but at least I know that.”

“Oh -” Louis is momentarily caught off guard by Liam’s comment, and it’s only then that it occurs to him that Liam doesn’t know that Harry is trans. “Yeah, sorry, you’re right. My mistake.” It confuses Louis as to why Harry wouldn’t have mentioned being trans to the rest of the class. When he’d known him well, Harry was always quite open about that aspect of his life. Harry was adamant about wanting to be an “open resource” to other trans students, especially since he hadn’t had that kind of support when he came to university. He pushes aside the nagging questions to the back of his mind. 

“But yeah, we had to upload our progress to our class page, and so I have the recordings of the songs that he’s working on - I can send them to you if you’d like.” 

Louis nods immediately, feeling guilty for doing so. But his moral high ground doesn’t stand a chance against wanting to listen to Harry’s music, to hear about and maybe understand what’s been going on. 

Liam pulls out his phone and forwards the MP3 file to Louis, before placing his phone back into his pocket, “Sorry, we can talk about something else too, you just looked stressed about it and I wanted to check in.” he assures.

“It’s okay. I should be the one apologizing - you probably didn’t want to spend the entire evening talking about a classmate you barely know.” 

“It’s alright - and I really don’t mind, I’m glad to talk about him, or any of your other friends for that matter. Are you friends with Zayn too?” 

“Oh yeah, I’ve been friends with Zayn longer actually, we went to school together growing up. Harry and I met two summers ago through the non-profit internship program that the school has - I don’t know if you’re familiar.” 

“Oh yeah, I think I know what you’re talking about. You all like, live in a frat house for the summer right?” 

Louis laughs, “Yeah, they didn’t want us to call it a frat house though, it was called like, “immersive community living” I think.” 

“So is Zayn from Doncaster originally?” 

“He was born in Belfast and then moved when he was eight or nine, we met in year 5. He was new and I didn’t have many friends so we kind of stuck together.”

“I was a pretty quiet kid too - didn’t have too many friends, and I don’t really keep in contact with anyone from home now. It must be nice having Zayn here.” 

Louis nods his agreement, but doesn’t add anything. 

“Are your families close at all?” 

Louis freezes for a half second, his jaw clenching at the mention of family, though he quickly tries to brush it off. “Not really no, he doesn’t really get on with his parents. I didn’t see much of them even when we lived in Doncaster.” 

Liam knows that he’s pushing, but he feels the need to keep asking, “And your family? Do they like Zayn alright?” 

Louis tenses again, and takes a second, digging his fingernails into his palms, “My mum really liked Zayn, yeah. I think she thought he was a good influence on me or whatever; made me want to go to class and all that. But, um, she passed away about a year ago. Um, and my sister. And I’m not really super close to my step-dad so I don’t really -” 

His voice breaks then. He doesn’t start crying, but he doesn’t finish the sentence. 

“Lou -” 

“Please, don’t say you're sorry.” He interrupts Liam before he can get the sentence out, “It’s alright. I’m alright. You were going to know sooner or later, I just don’t want to talk about it right now.” 

“Of course. I shouldn’t have pressed you. I knew that you didn’t like talking about your family and I just butted in.” 

“No worries - honestly, even though it’s shit now, I’m glad that you know. Felt like it was kind of hanging over my head.” 

Liam nods, and lets silence settle in. Louis still looks a little shaky, his words had been careful, measured, but there had been a tremble to them. Like, if Liam had asked one more question he would have broken down right then and there. They sit together in a quiet that isn’t necessarily either uncomfortable or comfortable - it feels almost reverent, the recognition of this moment as significant and impactful. 

After a while, Louis nods his head once, as if he’s reassuring himself.

“I’m, uh, I’m going to call Zayn. I think I just need to like, I dunno -” 

“Lou, it’s alright,” Liam assures, “there’s no need to explain yourself. Go see Zayn, I’ll see you at the apartment later, yeah?” 

Louis nods again, and wipes at his face aggressively before getting up to give Liam a short, awkward hug. 

The walk back to his car is surreal - like everything is floating by, all of the cars and people and streets and signs blending into one steady, dull stream that Louis can’t bother paying attention to. Time passes imperceptibly. His feet feel heavy in his shoes, dragging him into the pavement below. 

It feels both monumental and unimportant that he told Liam. Telling him doesn’t make his sister or his mother any less dead - it doesn’t shift the detached, ambivalent feeling that he’s had since he first got the call from his mother, telling him about a stage of cancer that was so advanced it was inoperable. It doesn’t make him forget the sentences that followed, informing him that it was “a matter of months” that she wanted to see him again before she “got too sick”, that he and his step-father could “put aside their differences” so that Louis could come home. And it doesn’t change the months that followed after his mother’s death, when he’d quit his summer internship and canceled his housing plans to stay at home and help his step-dad. Doesn’t make the anger that he’d endured from his step-father any less sharp and angry. 

But Liam is the first person outside of Zayn who knew about his mother and sister’s death. At least, who knew at university. He’d been avoiding telling Niall for months, lying through his teeth about how home was, and making flimsy excuses for his quick change of summer plans. Harry didn’t know either, obviously, they had stopped talking for months before Louis even knew his mother was ill. And Louis’ other friends weren’t really the “emotional support” type. They were good to go out with, to drink enough until he forgot about his mother and his sister and his step-father’s anger, even if they didn’t know the purpose they were serving. 

He reaches his car in a daze, sitting in the driver’s seat without putting the key in the ignition for nearly ten minutes before he finally finds it in himself to dial Zayn’s number. 

He answers on the second ring. 

“Lou?” 

And Louis can’t even find the words to answer him. He just sits on the other end of the line, letting the air grow stale inside his car. 

“Lou, mate, you’re freaking me out,” Zayn pauses, waiting for Louis to answer, but still he can’t make his mouth move to form words, “Louis, are you fucking with me?” 

Louis lets out a stifled sob at that, the only response he can muster. 

“Oh shit. Lou, are you at your apartment? I can come over right now?” 

Louis continues crying, the tears have begun to mount on one another, building into a sound that is almost inhuman. 

“Fuck Lou, okay. It’s alright, I’m going to talk to you while I come get you. I’m so glad you made us share locations, that was a really smart move of you.” Zayn continues to talk, though Louis is too caught up in crying to really discern what’s being said. But he gets the message that he should wait there, that Zayn will be there soon, that he’ll make everything alright. 

Zayn arrives in the parking lot ten minutes later, pulling his car next to Louis’. He gets out and immediately opens the passenger door for Louis, “Here, we can go back to mine, you shouldn’t be driving right now anyway. Let me take your keys.” 

Louis lets himself be guided to the passenger seat, lets Zayn take his car keys from him and lock his car, making sure that he gets Louis’ backpack and everything in case he needs it tonight. Finally, Zayn is back in the driver’s seat, all his attention focused on Louis. 

“I’m going to hold your hand now alright? And we can sit here for however long you need.” 

He takes Louis’ right hang in his, squeezing lightly. He lets Louis cry until he can’t anymore, until he’s spent and worn and so exhausted he can’t seem to produce tears anymore. He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and takes the tissue that Zayn offers him. 

“Thanks” 

“No need to thank me, I’m always here for you.” 

Louis feels dumb and emotional and uncertain after crying and doesn’t know how to respond to that so he just sits, eyes carefully focused on his knees. 

“You sounded like you were really in pain, Lou - what happened?” 

“Um, I told Liam.” 

“Which bit did you tell him?” 

“I dunno - I didn’t tell him like, all of it. Um, we talked about Harry for a bit and then like, my family.” 

“Family as in your mum and sister or family as in your step-dad?” 

“My mum and sister. ‘S the first one I told at university besides you.” 

“Oh, Lou -” he doesn’t reach over for a hug, he just grips Louis’ hand tighter, running his thumb up and down the back of his hand. Louis is eternally grateful. He loves Zayn for a multitude of reasons, but one of the deepest ones is that Zayn always knows what he needs, especially when it comes to his family. He knows when a hug will be too much, or when Louis needs a minute to collect his thoughts, or when Louis just needs someone to sit with him in the thoughts he’s experiencing. 

Zayn pulls out of the parking lot, and instead of heading straight home he turns on the side street that will take them away from the university, towards the surrounding neighborhoods. Ever since he got his license, Louis has loved driving. The way that it kept his hands and mind busy but still allowed him space to think and breathe. They drive up and down the narrow roads, staring up at houses that Louis couldn’t imagine ever being able to afford for a while before finally, Louis breaks the silence. 

“I still think it’s my fault, I think.” 

“Hmm?”

“Fizz.”

“It’s not, Lou.” 

“I could have stayed there. Like, if I had stayed with her then maybe she wouldn’t have needed -” 

“It’s not always like that Lou. Stuff like that, it’s not black and white like that. I don’t know if it’s really a question of you physically being there or not. People can have the most accessible support system ever and overdoses can still happen.” 

“I know but what if it was like that? What if I could have done something and I didn’t?” 

“You were making sure that you were safe, Lou. He did shit to you that he didn’t do to your sisters, you had to make sure you were safe. And I’ve heard you say this before, but you making that decision wasn’t selfish. You making sure that you are safe should always be your priority. And, even if you weren’t living there anymore you were there for all of them so fucking much Lou. They all know that you love them to pieces and that you’ll be there for them in a heartbeat. Stuff like this is horrible and tragic and absolutely gut-wrenching, but it’s not your fault.” 

“Then why’d it happen again?” Zayn gives him a questioning look. “With Harry. I, I know his stuff isn’t as simple as me leaving, but I can’t help but feel like it’s my fault. Like, this has happened twice to the people I love - it feels like maybe I’m the common denominator.” 

“Hey, Lou.” Zayn releases Louis’ grip and puts a gentle hand on his shoulder, “You aren’t the “common denominator” at all. You’ve supported so many people through shit, and have been an incredibly positive part of so many people’s lives. Including me. With Harry,” he sighs, his eyes deeply sad, “with Harry, I think that regardless of whether you were there or not something was going to break. I don’t know what Niall said to you about Harry after you saw everything last night, but he’s had a fuckton of trauma dumped on him. Some of which I don’t think he’s like, properly talked about with anyone. And things like that take a lot of time and healing to process. It’s not just about whether or not you were there. I think the same goes for Fizz.” 

He thinks a moment before adding, “Harry doesn’t blame you for any of it, you know that? And I don’t think that Fizz would either.” 

Louis gives a short nod, guilt still bubbling in his chest. “Is Harry mad?” 

Zayn lets out a laugh that feels forced, “I don’t think young Harold could be mad at anyone if he tried. Y’know he still tries to defend that transphobic piece of shit roommate he had freshman year? Tries to tell us that she’s “a product of her community” and that “really if anything, society as a whole should be criticized and vilified for the harm that it does to individuals”.” 

“That sounds like him.” 

“But, more seriously, he honestly hasn’t said one bad thing about you. You’ve hung the fucking moon for him mate.” 

“I don’t know if that’s a good thing.” 

“Neither do I, to be honest with you. But anger scares him a lot - something with his family, I think. Easier for him to blame himself and all that.” 

“Jesus fuck, he doesn’t blame himself for us does he?” 

Zayn shrugs, “I think he does. I mean, he doesn’t know everything that happened behind you two not speaking, so he thinks he did something. We tried telling him it wasn’t like that but, I dunno, once he’s convinced himself of something it’s hard to tell him otherwise.” 

“Do you think we’ll ever get back to where we used to be?” 

Zayn thinks for a long moment, “I think he’s willing to try, and I think you are too. But maybe, things can’t go back to how they used to be after everything. Maybe it’s more about figuring out how to make new things, and be there for each other in new ways.”


	7. Chapter 7

Louis doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t respond, just mulls it over as he watches the streetlights flick on. 

“I thought you were out of town?” 

“Was just gone for a day or two, my mum is trying to like, start talking again I guess.” 

“You alright with that?” 

“I dunno - I guess. Just weird to be back in Donny again. But everyones doing alright.” 

Louis nods, knows that he probably shouldn’t push Zayn. He was usually good about letting Louis know if he wanted to talk about whatever was going on in his head. He lets the subject drop, considers the landscape passing outside his window again. 

Zayn’s phone is what breaks the silence this time - an insistent buzzing that draws Louis from his daze. 

“Can you check who that is?” 

Louis flips Zayn’s phone over and is immediately confronted by a picture of Harry and Zayn together. It’s an older photo, Louis can tell. Harry’s hair is still long, and his face is a little fuller, not as gaunt as it is now. Zayn’s hair is longer too; both of them are grinning ear to ear. Louis doesn’t recognize where they are. 

“Um, it’s Harry.” 

Zayn takes the phone from Louis quickly, swiping the screen to answer the call. 

“Hey Haz -”, Zayn’s voice too, lowers to meet Harry, ever so tender and gentle, “hey babe, it’s alright, it’s okay. Is Niall with you right now?”, there’s a pause, which Louis assumes is Harry answering, but he can’t quite hear the other end of the conversation. 

“Okay, no that’s okay. Are you in the apartment?”, there’s another pause for an answer. 

“Alright, but you’re near the apartment?”

“Do you want me to come get you?” 

“Haz, I’ve got Lou with me, is that going to be alright?” 

“Okay, yeah, I’ll let him know, okay? No, I promise he won’t be mad, knowing him and his sleeping habits he could probably use some rest. And then I’ll come get you and we’ll get you to my place and you’ll be all safe and warm. I have some clothes I can lend you to sleep in, hmm?” 

“Of course baby. Yeah, it’s no big deal. Is it alright if I call Niall and let him know you’re okay? Just so he doesn’t worry?” 

“Okay, I’ll do that. Can you sit on the curb while I come get you? Can you do that for me? Yeah, you shared your location with me a while ago, I still have it. Okay, I love you. Be there as soon as I can.” 

Zayn hangs up, looks over to Louis, handing him his phone as he spoke, “Can you dial Niall really quick? You can put him on speaker if you like, I don’t really like holding the phone while I’m driving anyway.” 

Louis quickly dials Niall, putting the phone on speaker and resting it in the cup holder between them. Niall answers immediately. 

“Zayn - Harry just left, I don’t know -” 

“He called me Ni, I’m going to get him.” 

“Oh, thank god. He left in a rush and I was worried he didn’t have a plan of where to go. I was about to call you.” 

“No worries. Yeah, he called me. I’m going to drop Louis off and then I’ll head to go get him.” 

“Lou’s with you?” 

“Hey Niall!” Louis butts in. 

“Yeah, I went ahead and let Harry know. He said he didn’t want a big crowd, so I’m going to drop him off before I get him.” 

“Okay, yeah that’s probably for the best. Oh, and Zayn?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Please make him talk about it, even if he doesn’t want to.” 

“Niall, I - you know I don’t think that that’s the best strategy for -” 

“Zayn, please, just this once listen to me. He needs to talk about it.” Niall’s voice is exasperated and desperate, they’ve clearly had this argument before. 

“Yeah - okay. I’ll see what he wants.” 

Niall sighs on the other end, “Okay. Text me when he’s in the car with you.” Niall hangs up. 

“I’m sorry mate, I know we had an evening sort of planned, but -” 

“It’s okay Zayn, really. You already did a lot for me tonight, I’m okay. And I get that Harry needs his space.” 

Zayn nods, “I’m going to drop you by your car okay? Are you alright to drive?” 

“Yeah, I’m good.”, he lets a beat of silence fall, and then follows, “Do you and Niall argue a lot about him?” 

Zayn sighs, and purses his lips, “I don’t know. I think argue is probably a strong word for it. Niall just wants the problem to be solved, y’know? And he thinks making Haz talk about it is the easiest way to get there.” 

“And you think that’s not right?” 

“I just -”, Zayn cuts himself off, “Niall’s never had like, mental health stuff, y’know? And he’s coming at this without a lot of understanding of situations like this. So, like, I do believe that he thinks that making Haz talk about all of this is the most “helpful” thing he can do; I just think he doesn’t realize that that can end up doing more damage.” 

Louis nods. Zayn has had his fair share of, as he would put it, “mental health stuff”; so has Louis, to be honest. “Yeah, I get that. Making someone talk when they’re not ready isn’t - it isn’t right.” 

“Yeah. Stresses Harry out to no end, ends up thinking that Niall’s mad at him half the time. I’m guessing that’s what happened today.” 

“Have you talked to Niall about it?” 

“Yeah, of course. He just - he doesn’t see it that way. He thinks that if we’re too careful with him we’ll just let him continue doing stuff that’s harmful. And I get that too, I guess. I don’t know. It’s probably unfair of me to be angry at Niall for approaching the situation differently, he does live with Haz after all. Probably sees more scary shit than I do.” 

They’ve arrived at the parking lot where Zayn picked him up, and Louis makes quick work of grabbing his stuff from the backseat and stuffing it in his car. Before he turns to close the front door, Louis looks Zayn in the eye, “Well, I’m here now. And I’m not going to stop being here this time. If you need someone to talk to about everything that isn’t Niall, I’ll be here to listen.” 

“Thanks Lou. Take care of yourself - and I meant what I said to Haz, you look like you could use some rest. I’ll see you soon. 

“See you soon.” 

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings: mentions of past and present eating disorders, discussion or rape/sexual assault
> 
> hope 2021 is treating you well, take care. 
> 
> xx

Zayn finds Harry sitting on the curb. His arms are folded over his knees, and he’s got his eyes fixed on some point in the horizon. 

“Hey babe.” 

Harry’s head turns slightly to acknowledge him, but he doesn’t speak or make any other movement. He takes it as an invitation to sit, and settles himself next to Harry, making sure to allow for a couple of inches between them. He gazes at the same point in the horizon as Harry, trying to take the pressure off but not scrutinizing him too much. 

“Did Niall push too hard?”, out of the corner of his eye, he can see Harry’s lip wobble, and Zayn knows that his suspicion was right. “We don’t have to talk about it right now. Why don’t we get you in the car - it might be March, but goddamnit it’s cold.” 

Harry gives a small nod, and moves to gather himself up from the pavement. His movements are slow, and calculated, and Zayn can see that his hands are trembling slightly. Zayn can’t decide whether that tremble is coming from fear, lack of sleep or lack of food. Maybe it’s a mixture of all of them. 

They get in the car without a word between them. Zayn turns the key in the engine and flips the heat on high, but he doesn’t make a move to start driving. Transitions, be it between spaces or situations were always difficult for Harry, and letting him have time to gather himself before they moved forward seemed like a good idea. They sit there until Harry starts to play with the rings on his fingers, twisting the one on the pointer finger of his right hand back and forth. Zayn takes it as a sign that Harry is back, fully with him, ready to head back to his apartment. He flicks the radio on without much thought, flipping through the channels absentmindedly, letting the noise from the various radio programs fill in the silence between them. 

When they get to the apartment, Zayn lets Harry open the passenger seat and get out himself. Harry trails a half-step behind him as they make their way to the door. 

Zayn’s apartment is small, but he loves it. He’s always lived off-campus, since he needed to have a year-round lease, rather than just one for the academic year, as he didn’t go back home for the summers. He’s had it since his freshman year and in the three years since, he’d really been able to make it his own. He’d hung some of the pieces he’d completed for classes and shows up on the walls; some of which Harry had helped him with. 

There’s one in particular, a photo series that he and Harry and undertaken together when Zayn was a freshman and Harry was a sophomore that Zayn absolutely loves. It’s a set of polaroids of all of their possessions, collected together in neat, delineated groups. Both of them had been kicked out of their homes when they’d gone to college, being told that they’d only be welcome back when they’d “come to their senses''. They’d started their photo series as a way to symbolize the space they’d created for themselves, in the absence of their families. They’d amassed and photographed everything that they’d been allowed to take with them when they were kicked out. For Zayn, it had been quite a bit of stuff - mostly supplies for his college dorm. But for Harry, it had been next to nothing, just a toiletry bag, a cell phone, his backpack, his wallet, a charger and the clothes he was wearing. Over the course of the next several months, they’d added photos of the possessions that they’d accumulated since. The number of things that they could truly call their own growing steadily, and the things that were tainted with the memory of an unaccepting and bitter family diminishing. 

Zayn knows that the situation with Harry’s family has changed a little since they’d completed the project. They’re talking again, mainly just Harry and his mum. Occasionally he’ll call his sister, but those phone calls usually end badly. He never calls his dad. And Harry goes and visits them occasionally, only on holidays, and only for a couple days, four at the absolute most. But, the photo series still means a lot to Zayn - a way to share a significant source of trauma between the two of them, and remember the specific kinship that that had created between the two of them when they first met. 

He wonders now, if Harry was okay with the piece still being up. He’d asked him when he’d first hung it in his apartment, just to make sure that Harry was alright with it, but he hadn’t checked in since. Harry stands behind him in the entryway like a shadow. He’s looking at the photos as well - considering them, seeming to weigh them in his mind. 

“You should take mine down.” 

Zayn’s heart sinks, “Why would I do that?” he asks softly. 

“I went back. ‘S not the same.” 

Zayn feels his heart break even more. He knows that going back has been so hard on Harry, and he hates that Harry felt like he _ had  _ to go back. It hadn’t been a choice, really, when his parents had called and instructed him that they would expect him back on holidays and for one weekend during the summer. The veiled threat of coming to take him away from university, or take him off of their insurance (something that Harry surely couldn’t afford, even with his scholarship) dark and looming. It’s made Harry feel like, as he would phrase it “a liar”. Zayn thinks that’s perhaps a little harsh - Harry isn’t a liar by any means, but he is being forced to compromise a fundamental part of himself in order to preserve a relationship that he doesn’t even want to maintain. A relationship that’s honestly, been detrimental to his mental health. 

Zayn decides that now isn’t the time to remind him of the intricacies of his family situation. “I went back too,” he finally offers, “doesn’t make what happened any less significant.” 

Harry’s quiet, but his gaze still lingers on the photos. He’s concentrating on the very first photo of the series, the one of just the stuff that he’d managed to take from his parent’s house when they first kicked him out. 

“We can take them down though, if you don’t like them up. We made it together, and I wouldn’t want to keep it up if they made you feel bad.” 

“It’s alright. Maybe you're right.”

Zayn waits a half-second, just in case Harry has something to add. He does that sometimes, lets himself be cut off so he doesn’t have to finish a thought that he’s anxious about expressing. 

“Could you, um. I mean, do you tell people what they are? Like, when they come over?” 

Zayn thinks for a moment, finding it hard to remember when he’d last had a guest that wasn’t Niall, Louis or Harry, all of whom had known about the project when it began. 

“I don’t think anyone I’ve had over has ever asked. If I do have someone over in the future, would you not want me to tell them what it’s about?” 

Harry doesn’t respond for a moment, and then nods his head. 

“No worries at all - I’ll just tell them it was an old art project. Is that okay?” 

Harry doesn’t wait this time to nod. He still hasn’t moved from his spot behind Zayn, even when Zayn had turned to face him, and won’t stop looking at his shoes. 

“Do you want a shower before you change?”

Harry shakes his head sharply at that, every fiber of his being begging Zayn not to make him take a shower. 

“Alright, well, let’s go to my room and I’ll pick you out some clothes, and then you can get changed?” 

He waits for Harry to nod, wanting to get his expressed consent before he made him do something that he was clearly uncomfortable with. It takes a couple of seconds for Harry to gather himself, but he nods again, and lets Zayn lead him to the bedroom. 

  
Zayn’s careful to leave his bedroom door open, just in case Harry gets uncomfortable and needs to step out. He’s learned a lot about what Harry needs from trial and error, or from observation. In bedrooms or bathrooms, especially when he’s one-on-one with another person (and especially if that person is male), he needs to be the closest to the door, have the door open, and a clear path to leave the room. Niall always got upset when Zayn brought up guidelines like these ( _ “But we’re safe Zayn. He should know that we aren’t going to do something like that to him” _ ). Zayn had tried to explain that fears like that weren’t rational, that it didn’t matter if Harry knew, logically, in his head that Zayn and Niall would never do anything like that; that the other part of Harry’s brain, the piece that was working so hard to try and protect him, couldn’t differentiate between a close friend and a potential threat. Niall had relented, finally, but still looked offended whenever Zayn had to remind him to give Harry space, to be careful in the way that he touched him, to always let him have a way out. 

He also knew that, for whatever reason, Harry didn’t like seeing his body. It had gotten worse when he had been assaulted, but it had been there before as well. Showers were hard, baths were worse. Harry had started covering his mirror about a month after the assault, and had taken to showering in the dark whenever possible not too long after that as well. Zayn hadn’t been sure if the aversion of seeing himself in the mirror was only when Harry wasn’t dressed, or if it extended to all situations as well. Wanting to be on the safe side, he’d made sure that he had a similar set-up at least available in his apartment if Harry was ever over and needed to use the restroom or shower. He’d bought one of those cheap shower rods that sticks out from the wall and installed it over his mirror and then cut a shower curtain so that it fit the space between the top of the mirror and the start of the sink. That way, you could pull the curtain if you wanted to see yourself (like Zayn often needed to when he was getting ready in the morning), but it could be easily covered if need be. 

He went to his drawers and grabbed a pair of running shorts and a sweatshirt that Zayn hoped wouldn’t be comically big on him. Harry had always been smaller than him, something that Zayn had initially struggled with when they first met, but he’s dropped a good forty pounds in the past couple of months. Recently, Zayn had taken to lending him his clothes from when he was sick, a fact that Zayn is growing increasingly worried about. 

It had been Harry who’d noticed when Zayn’s eating habits had shifted his freshman year. When Zayn had taken to replacing meals with cigarette breaks, and began coming up with flimsy excuses to skip out on meals whenever he was with the others. Harry had never been pushy about his concern, always taking care with what to say and when. Knew that Zayn would feel pressured if he brought it up around a mealtime, or if they were with other people. He’d first mentioned it when they were out smoking one evening - leaning against the balcony of his old apartment, staring out at the side street below them. It had started with a check-in, something that they did pretty frequently, ever since they had both confided in one another that they weren’t doing the best mentally. Gradually, he’d brought up the eating. Didn’t make a joke out of it, like Louis would the week following, when Zayn would sit through lunch with him, watching Louis eat, itching for a cigarette, longing to be anywhere but the university cafeteria with its cacophony of sounds and smells. Harry had been so tender with how he’d asked, let Zayn tell him as much (or as little) as he needed. 

It hadn’t been till the end of the conversation, when Zayn had asked him how he’d figured it out, that Harry had shrugged, stubbed out his cigarette, and admitted, “I guess I know what to look for. I had a bit of like, a bit of a hard time with that stuff a while ago. It sucks.” 

And Zayn had just nodded. He’d known that Harry was probably underselling his experience with disordered eating - knew, even then, that Harry had a habit of minimizing his experience to make it easier to swallow. After that they’d talk about it a lot, or reference it at least, even if they never dived too deep into the details. Zayn never really got the details on what had happened with Harry, just that he’s had a tough time with eating in the past, and that he was mostly alright with it now. But even if he didn’t talk much about the nitty-gritty of his experience, Harry was  _ there.  _ Harry was there to sit with Zayn through a meal if he needed to. When Zayn had been at the height of his disorder, Harry was there to make an excuse for him and Zayn to leave if a gathering with friends involved unexpected food. 

He seemed to know immediately that the social aspect of food was the hardest for Zayn. The idea that someone was watching him eat, counting his calories for him, and passing judgement on what and how he ate was an anxiety that Zayn was still working to fully overcome. Harry would often stop by with a food he knew that Zayn was okay with, a food that was wholly and utterly  _ safe _ , and eat with him. Harry would make sure to take the first bite, reduce the anxiety of having to start eating for Zayn, but he’d never pay any more attention than that. Zayn never felt like Harry was  _ watching _ him, Harry would be on his phone or helping clear the dishes or working on something on his laptop. He’d never, ever, watch Zayn eat. And Zayn was incredibly thankful for that - Harry quickly became the space where he felt okay to eat. With anyone else, it was too anxiety inducing, and without anyone there, he couldn’t seem to make himself eat. 

Gradually, Harry brought up the idea of going to the student counseling center. Heard Zayn out completely about all his anxieties and fears before offering to go with Zayn to the first appointment, just to sit in the waiting room, just so Zayn would know that there was a support a moment away from him if he needed it. And honestly, Zayn probably would never have gone if Harry hadn’t brought it up. He knows that the progress he’s made has been created and maintained by more than just Harry, but he still sees Harry as the central actor to his recovery. 

So it pained Zayn on more than just a “my friend is going through a really tough time” level to see Harry change so quickly. He hasn’t had the courage to talk to Harry about it directly yet. Perhaps that’s incorrect, he stands by what he said to Niall earlier, it would probably be worse for Harry if Zayn confronted him directly about his eating right now, especially with everything else involved. But still, he feels like shit for letting this continue in some way. Like, Harry did this incredible thing for him by being there for him throughout his disorder, and Zayn can’t figure out how to return that kindness. Even though he’s had a similar experience, he still feels so unsure as to what would be best for Harry. Right now, he’s assuming that space and quiet solidarity are the best answer. 

He’s also working on compiling a list of safe foods for Harry and keeping as much of it as possible in his apartment, like he’s sure Harry did for him. It’s mainly small, nutrient packed things that Harry seems okay with: clif bars or a spoon of peanut butter or a couple of nuts. So far, Zayn thinks that it’s a quantity thing, like maybe Harry can’t quite stomach a large amount of food, so trying to get the nutrients that he needs in the smallest package possible seems ideal. He’s also noticed that Harry likes to know absolutely everything that’s in his food - he doesn’t do great with things that have lots of ingredients or things other people have homemade, and definitely doesn’t do well with things that are ordered from restaurants. So, Zayn has tried to stick to pre-packaged stuff for the most part, at least for the time being. 

But even with Zayn’s careful accommodation, Harry’s still dropping weight, and quickly. He doesn’t look unhealthy necessarily, not yet. He’s thin, definitely, but right now it’s passable as weight loss associated with his increased running regimen and nothing more. Especially since Harry has a predisposition to wearing bigger clothes, the layers of fabric swallowing the evidence of his weight loss. In fact, Zayn thinks that if Harry hadn’t mentioned that he’d had previous experience with disordered eating, it would have taken him a lot longer to realize that something about Harry’s eating patterns was off. Niall had noticed too. He’d mentioned it off-handedly a couple of weeks ago ( _ “Do you think Harry’s losing weight? He’s looking a little peaky.” _ ). 

And Zayn had agreed that Harry had definitely lost weight, though he didn’t share his concerns about why he thought Harry might be losing it. It didn’t really feel like it was his place to share that information, at least not without asking Harry first. It also didn’t seem like something that Niall would react super well too. Even without knowing exactly why Harry was losing weight, Niall could still be pushy around food with Harry. And Zayn understands that that probably comes from a place of concern and care, but he also knows what it’s like to be pressured to eat something when you feel physically incapable of doing so. 

But, if things kept going the way that they were, they were going to have to talk about it sooner or later. He sighed, and handed over the shorts and sweatshirt to Harry. 

“I’m going to be in the living room - you can change in here or in the bathroom, whichever is perfectly okay. Come out when you're ready, alright?” 

Harry nodded, mumbling a quick “thank you” that’s barely audible. 

“And call if you need anything - I’ll be right outside.” 

Harry nods again, gives him a half-hearted sort of smile, trying to signify that he was okay to be alone for a second. 

Zayn smiles back, leaves the bedroom, keeping the door to his room cracked just a bit, just so Harry wouldn’t feel so alone. He then busies himself in the kitchen, getting a plate of Harry’s safe foods ready. He’s been through treatment before, so he’s sort of familiar with the protocol: fill the plate enough so that they won’t feel like they have to finish it, but not too much for it to be overwhelming; keep things in packages so that Harry doesn’t get anxious about someone adding something to his food, or it being somehow different than the food he had at home; don’t let it be the focus of conversation when he gets in the room, just offer it and let it be. 

Harry emerges a couple of minutes later - he looks a little more present. He still hasn’t made much eye-contact with Zayn, but his head is up, which Zayn takes as improvement. Even when Harry was doing better, he’d always struggled with eye-contact, usually choosing to focus on the person’s hands when they were talking, or a point just above their head. 

“I was hungry so I made us a plate, didn’t know if you’d want anything.”, Zayn took a clif bar from the plate, tearing open the wrapper and breaking off a piece before starting to eat. Harry eyes the plate carefully, taking in its contents, but doesn’t reach for anything. Zayn lets it be. 

“You wanna talk about it?” 

Harry shrugs, biting the corner of his lip. Zayn waits for a verbal answer, not wanting to force a conversation if Harry wasn’t ready. They sit like that for a couple of minutes, Harry continuing to bite down hard on his lip, trying to keep it from wobbling. Finally, something breaks, and he starts to cry. It isn’t a quiet cry either, once the tears come they won’t stop. Harry leans forward, desperately searching for some sort of comfort. Zayn reaches out, holds him tight. He takes one of Harry’s hands in his, giving him something to grasp onto. 

He lets Harry cry. Gives him the space that he needs to completely feel the emotion that he’s in right now. Harry’s cries eventually steady, and Zayn starts tapping out a pattern on Harry’s hand that he’s holding. He counts out to ten in his head, tapping along to the steady rhythm, then pauses and starts again. Again and again they go through this cycle, until Harry speaks, his voice muffled from it’s position tucked into Zayn’s shoulder, and cracking at the edges, still clearly on the edge of tears. 

“He’s really mad.” 

“Niall?” 

Harry nods his head into Zayn’s shoulder. 

“Why’s Niall mad?”

“Thought that I did something bad.” 

“What did he think you’d done?” 

Harry takes longer to answer that one, and when he does, his response is so quiet that it’s barely discernible, “thought I filed.” 

“Why did he think that was a bad thing baby?”, anger floods him immediately. 

“He thought I should have told him.” 

Zayn grits his teeth, tries to swallow around his immediate desire to call Niall and tell him to fuck off, “Niall shouldn’t have been mad about that honey. Whether or not you file, and then who you tell about it is your decision. No one else should pressure you into telling them what happened. And,” he adds, “no one should try and make you report it, or get mad at you for not telling them about what you’ve decided to do about it.” 

Harry shakes his head into Zayn’s shoulder - he can feel the breath stutter in Harry’s chest, and he knows that he’s crying again. “He’s right Zayn, he deserved to know.” 

“No Haz, he’s not right. Even if he’s your roommate, and even if you told him about what happened, that doesn’t mean that he automatically deserves every single piece of information about your life or about this. I know that he really advocated for you to file, but just because he did that, it doesn’t mean that he gets to know everything.” 

“I didn’t file Zayn. I didn’t. I didn’t. I didn’t”, he repeats it over and over, until it loses meaning, and his sobs overcome the words, making them incomprehensible. 

“I believe you. Haz,” he grips Harry’s hand a little tighter, “I believe you. I promise. About everything. I believe you.” 

“But,” Harry pushes on, his voice slightly more controlled than it had been, “someone else did Zayn. Someone else did. And that means,” his voice trails off, unwilling to complete the sentence. 

“That he hurt someone else too?” 

Harry trembles and nods. “‘S my fault then isn’t it?” 

“No it’s not your fault. Not at all. It’s only his fault. He’s the one who hurts people. Not you. You can’t blame yourself for something the actions of someone like that, especially after they hurt you.” 

Harry doesn’t respond, but Zayn guesses that Harry isn’t convinced. He’s unsure if he should keep pushing the matter, so he lets the silence be. He rubs circles into Harry’s back, hearing his breathing gradually steady from the panic from earlier. He’s still awake, Zayn can tell, but he’s calmer. 

“You wanna go to bed? Today was really exhausting, I want you to get some rest.” 

Harry lifts his head, he looks half-out of it, as he sometimes does after coming down from panicking. Zayn wouldn’t necessarily label what happened as a panic attack - with Harry those were usually more drastic; these kind of all-encompassing experiences that were more difficult to get a handle on. But, it was close - in the same family at least. Harry looks bone-tired now, and when he nods his head it seems to take all the energy he has left. 

“Okay. Do you want me to stay with you?” 

Harry nods again, tightens his grip a little on Zayn’s hand. 

“Okay. I’m going to carry you to bed alright?” 

He lifts Harry, and Harry seems to give himself over to exhaustion, letting his head rest on Zayn’s chest and closing his eyes, his entire body losing the tension that it was holding. Zayn takes them to the bedroom, flicking his bedside lamp on. Harry does better sleeping with a light on, lets him be more aware of what’s going on around him when he wakes up. It makes it easier for him to recognize that the person next to him is safe, that he’s okay, that everything is alright. 

Harry turns a little when he’s laid down, but doesn’t make any other movements. Zayn is relieved to realize that he’s fallen asleep. Sometimes it can take hours for Harry to feel safe enough to fall asleep in a bed that isn’t his own, even when he’s absolutely exhausted. He quickly changes, and then goes to turn off the lights in the living room. 

It’s then that he notices Harry’s phone on the sofa, where it must have fallen from his pocket when they’d sat down. Zayn takes it over to the charger that he keeps near the TV stand, and clicks on the screen absentmindedly to check the time. 

Blinking up at him is a new message from “Lou :)”, which Zayn can’t help but read: 

“good seeing you today. missed you a lot. maybe we could go on a drive sometime soon?”


	9. Chapter 9

Louis sits in his car for a minute or two after Zayn pulls away. He steadies his hands on the wheel, and tries to reflect on the weekend. He can’t believe it’s just been a couple of days - that on Wednesday morning he had woken up expecting the next couple of days to be just like the rest of the year. Wednesday feels so far away from where he is now - and he can’t seem to grasp what he was thinking when he’d started the week. 

He’s still trying to get his bearings when a thought suddenly pops into his head -  _ Harry’s music _ . He’d momentarily forgotten about the conversation that he’d had with Liam until now. He pulls out his phone a little guiltily, plugging his phone into the aux, and hesitates a moment over the MP3 file that Liam had sent him. He weighs the options in his mind and finally presses the play button. 

Music starts immediately, and Louis recognizes that it must be Harry on the guitar. He’d been learning to play the guitar during their summer. Harry’s roommate, Niall, who Louis had later been introduced to, had been teaching him. He’s made so much progress since then - the guitar riff is slow, starting off quietly and then building. There’s a moment when Louis considers pausing it, deleting the file off his phone before Harry starts singing, because he knows that he should have asked Harry’s permission. Part of him knows that Harry would be upset if he knew, but before he can convince himself to do the right thing Harry starts singing and Louis is gone. 

_ “I've got a girl crush, hate to admit it but I got a heart rush, it ain’t slowin' down. I got it real bad, want everything she has - that smile and that midnight laugh she's giving you now.  _

_ I want to taste her lips, yeah, 'cause they taste like you. I want to drown myself in a bottle of her perfume. I want her long blond hair, I want her magic touch, yeah, 'cause maybe then you'd want me just as much.  _

_ I don't get no sleep, I don't get no peace, thinking about her under your bed sheets. The way that she's whispering, the way that she's pulling you in, Lord knows I've tried I can't get her off my mind.  _

_ I want to taste her lips, yeah, 'cause they taste like you. I want to drown myself in a bottle of her perfume, I want her long blond hair, I want her magic touch, yeah, 'cause maybe then you'd want me just as much. I've got a girl crush, I've got a girl crush - hate to admit it but I got a heart rush and it ain't slowin' down.”  _

Louis recognizes it immediately as a cover, and vaguely recalls Liam mentioning that his class had been asked to cover a song as part of their thesis. But it sounds like a song meant for Harry. He can hear the rush of anger behind the words, the desperation in Harry’s voice as he sings, and he can’t help but wonder if it was about him. 

And he hates that that’s his immediate thought, it makes him feel selfish and self-absorbed, but the parallels are there. It had been Eleanor who had told Harry about them at the end of the summer. Louis had tried desperately to keep the fact that he and Eleanor had been hooking up from Harry. At the time, he wasn’t entirely sure why he didn’t want Harry to know about it, they’d gotten to a place where they told one another virtually everything, but he couldn’t make himself tell Harry. And so when Harry had come to him, the night after he’d asked Eleanor for a ride to the grocery store, with an unreadable expression on his face, to ask him why he hadn’t mentioned that he and Eleanor were sleeping together, he’d shrugged. 

“I don’t know, didn’t seem that important.”, was all Louis could come up with. Louis was able to catch a quick flash of hurt before Harry had carefully schooled his face into a neutral expression, nodded, and left. They hadn’t talked about it again. Louis had waited for Harry to come downstairs the next morning, prepared with a half-baked apology, but Harry had just smiled at Louis and asked him about his morning. And so Louis had dropped it - even though he knew that it hurt Harry that he hadn’t told him. 

He can’t - Louis won’t let himself think about this. He rips the aux jack out of his phone and finishes the rest of the ride home in silence. 

He pulls into the parking lot of his apartment still angry at himself - he still can’t believe that he was too much of a coward to tell Harry about him and Eleanor. The look Harry had gave him - he still can’t get it out of his head. He’d wanted to apologize for forever, but he’d never been able to bring himself to. And by then his sexuality crisis had been in full swing, and he had been so confused as to how Harry fit into all of that - and - and he’d been an ass. He  _ knew _ that. He just, couldn’t figure out how to address that with Harry. But not talking about it wasn’t working, obviously. And so, before he can convince himself otherwise, he opens the messages app on his phone, and sends a text to Harry: 

“good seeing you today.

missed you a lot. 

maybe we could go on a drive sometime soon?” 

When Louis gets into the apartment, he sleeps. Zayn was right, he was fucking exhausted. His dreams are filled with half-remembered moments from that summer,  _ their summer,  _ all of them seeming to revolve around their first conversation on the roof. 

\---

It had been almost a week since they’d arrived at the house, and Louis had been carefully trying to curate an untouchable image amongst his new housemates. He’d been nervous to move in, especially since he had been desperately trying to avoid Eleanor after their unfortunate hook-up the previous March, and especially since he couldn’t seem to stop himself from continuing to sleep with her. He hadn’t realized that they were applying for the same program until it was too late, and now he was going to have to cope with living with her for three months. 

It wasn’t as if he  _ disliked  _ her, even. They were friends, good friends - and he hated that he’d fucked that up just because he was lonely and confused and a little angry and needed a distraction from all of those feelings. And now she wanted things to go further, for them to be something other than friends who’d hooked up every once in a while, and he couldn’t deal with that. 

He hated that he didn’t want that. Because he was supposed to, right? He was supposed to meet a nice girl in college who was sweet and smart and pretty and date her and then marry her and then find a job and then settle down. And Eleanor seemed like a pretty good candidate for that. And, fuck, he  _ wanted _ to want that. But he couldn’t make himself, couldn’t swallow around the idea of dating her, or of dating anyone really. 

So things had been awkward around the house so far to say the least. He’d avoided any and all one-on-one time with Eleanor, which meant that he was generally just spending a lot of time in his room. He only had one neighbor, since his room was next to the emergency exit. The guy’s room was right across from him, and he seemed pretty okay. They hadn’t really talked much of that first week, aside from the mandatory ice breakers that their program had made them do. He knew his name, Harry, only because all of them had door decs on their doors with their names on it, and Louis passed by Harry’s literally every day. 

But Harry seemed alright. He wasn’t really one to share much, at least in the larger group, which Louis could appreciate. He did seem to be close to one of the other guys in the house, and had him over to his room frequently. And with him, he seemed to be pretty open (Louis, at least, could hear him laughing all the way from his room when he was over). 

He didn’t really know why he cared about any of this, or why Harry was more interesting to him than the rest of his housemates, but he felt a strange sort of comroderry with Harry, even if they’d never spoken one-on-one. Harry was one of the few people in the house that he really wanted to get to know better. Perhaps, it was because Harry made a point of saying hi and asking him about his day whenever they ran into each other in the house (he’d even, bless him, offered him half of the dinner he’d made one night when Louis came home starving from work after his boss had kept him late). 

Perhaps, a niggling part of his brain accused, it was because Harry was queer. The only time Louis had really seen Harry stand and speak more than a couple of words in front of the entire group was on the first day where he’d made the point to identify his pronouns. It had been right after Harry’s birthname had been read off the roster at check-in, and Harry had cleared his throat, corrected the name, and told the house that he would prefer to go by Harry and use he/him pronouns “if at all possible”. He’d mentioned off-handedly the day after, at their first group lunch (another mandatory event that Louis had dreaded going to), the name of an ex-boyfriend, so Louis knew that Harry also wasn’t straight, though he’d never clarified exactly how he identified. And - Louis was trying to pretend that he didn’t know exactly why that was so interesting to him. Not like he’d spent the better part of last year debating with himself how he understood his gender and sexuality. 

The thing was, he didn’t want to be queer. He  _ wasn’t queer _ . He couldn’t be, he’d reminded himself. Harry was interesting because he seemed kind and open and sweet, and not at all because he was someone who Louis might share identity and experience with. He  _ wasn’t fucking queer _ . 

A week into their time at the house, Harry and Louis had found themselves alone in the kitchen, everyone else having gone to bed already. Harry had been diligently working on his laptop, probably getting ready for work the next morning. Finally, he’d shut his laptop off and made to get up. 

“You going to bed?” Louis had found himself asking. 

Harry had looked up, surprised, “Um, no, actually. I was going to go on a walk, I think.” 

Louis wasn’t sure what had empowered him to ask, “Mind if I join you?” , but once he had said it there wasn’t any taking it back. 

Harry hadn’t answered at first, just looked at him a little stunned, and then finally remembered himself, “Oh, um, yeah. I do tend to go on long walks though, so like, just a warning I guess.” 

Louis had shrugged, “I don’t have anywhere else to be, so I don’t mind.” 

It was hot. So fucking hot. Even nearing eleven o’clock at night, it was sweltering, and Louis had begun regretting his decision until Harry had turned to him and said, “I was lying, um, I wasn’t really planning on going on a walk. I was going to go hang out on the roof, but then you asked and I panicked but I really think it’s too hot for a walk and I don’t want to be all sweaty and gross and so, yeah -”, he’d trailed off, refusing to look at Louis in the eye. 

“It’s alright mate,” Louis laughed, “I’m not going to like, report you or anything. I can leave you be if you want.” 

“No, um, you can come if you’d like. I just, um, I didn’t want to get you in trouble or anything.” 

“Somehow I think I’d manage to find my way into trouble anyway,” Louis laughed, “so, roof?” 

Harry nods, still a little stunned. “Here, I was planning to go through my window, so we’ll have to like, go to my room if that’s okay.” 

“Yeah, of course.” 

Harry leads him up the stairs of their house, down the hallway to his room. When he opens the door for Louis to step in, Louis’ immediately overwhelmed by the sheer amount of  _ yellow  _ he’s confronted with. Harry’s bedspread, sheets, pillows, and the majority of the posters hanging on his walls are all the same shade of dandelion yellow. 

“So, your favorite color’s blue then?” 

Harry blushes hard, “Um, yeah. I went a little overboard with the yellow, sorry.” 

“Nah, I like it. And hey, just means that you know what you like, right?” 

Harry cracks a smile, seemingly glad that Louis had stopped teasing him. “I’m going to grab a cig if that’s alright? Sorry, I know it’s gross.” 

Louis shakes his head, “No you’re fine. I smoke too, so I don’t have much room to say anything.” 

“Do you want one then?” 

“Um, sure, yeah.” 

Harry reaches over to his desk and pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a yellow lighter. 

“Glad to see the yellow theme extends to your lighter preferences as well.” 

“What?”, Harry asks, momentarily confused, and then recognizes the yellow lighter in his hand, “Oh yeah, like you said, I like what I like, I guess.” 

Harry pulls open his window and they scramble on the roof. Despite his long limbs, Harry seems to be incredibly uncoordinated, and Louis has to lean over and help him up the last few feet onto the roof. Harry immediately flops over, apparently exhausted from the effort. 

  
“Jesus Christ, I didn’t think that would be that hard.”, Harry said in between deep breaths. 

“Yeah, I honestly have never seen someone fail that much. It should not have been that difficult to get you on this roof.” 

“Hey - just because my upper body strength isn’t the best doesn’t mean I deserve to be berated.” 

They both laugh. Louis can’t help but think how incredible Harry’s laugh sounds, loud and so full of joy. Harry pulls out the pack of cigarettes and lights one, offering the pack to Louis, who takes one as well. They sit in silence for a bit, smoking and staring up at the blank night sky. 

“Sucks that you can’t see the stars, the lights from the city ruin it. Back home you can see all of them.” Harry comments. 

“Where are you from?”    
  


“A little outside Chesire - my parents own this farm, so you can see everything really well.” 

“That sounds beautiful - we’ve always just lived in a house like, in Doncaster, so I guess I don’t really see the stars much.” 

“Shame.” 

Louis feels bold for a half-second, “Maybe you can take me to see the stars sometime?” 

Harry lets out another laugh, this one colder, “Yeah, maybe. Don’t think that my parents would be too crazy about me coming home to be honest.” 

“You don’t get on with your parents?” 

“You could say that, I guess. We just don’t talk much, especially now that I’m at school. I think they’d be more than a little annoyed if I showed up with some random guy in the middle of the night to show him the stars.”, Louis looks over at Harry, and in the half-light he can see that Harry’s smiling shyly at him. He looks so  _ beautiful  _ in that moment. 

Which is a weird thing for Louis to be thinking about any guy, especially a guy he just met a week ago. But there’s a kindness to Harry that is just so absolutely intoxicating. And _ it is beautiful _ \- it’s the only way to describe it. 

“I don’t get on with my step-dad,” Louis offers, “my mum and I are alright. But, yeah.” 

Harry nods, mulling over this new piece of information, fully considering it before replying, “I hate to hear that. It’s really hard to have to deal with a parent who’s shitty. You don’t deserve that.” 

Louis feels like scoffing at that, because really, sometimes he does feel like he deserves it. Like, yeah, sometimes his step-dad takes it too far, but really, he’s just reacting to Louis being a fuck-up. And who can blame someone for getting frustrated when Louis manages to screw up all the goddamn time. 

Louis shrugs, “I don’t know. It’s - um, I don’t know if I’d call him shitty.” he finishes lamely. 

Harry fixes him with a look - it’s not calculating or discerning, it feels open, welcoming Louis to share if he’d like to. 

“He just gets angry sometimes when I mess up. Which has been a lot lately. Makes me not want to like -”, Louis cuts himself off because he doesn’t care how kind Harry is being to him right now, he doesn’t want to share what he was about to say yet. 

“Even if you mess up, you don’t deserve to bear the brunt of someone else’s anger. Especially when they’re the adult in that situation. Like, he has a lot of power over you and forcing you to deal with his anger sounds really unfair to you.” 

Louis is too taken aback to answer. Harry seems to misinterpret his silence as Louis being offended, and he immediately backtracks, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have overstepped. We’re just now talking and I shouldn’t have like, spoken to a situation that I don’t know all the details of. You just seem like a really genuine and nice person and I hated to hear that someone, especially someone who has power over you, is like, treating you unfairly.” 

“No, I’m not mad - sorry, just taking a second. Didn’t know that I was that easy to read.” 

Harry hummed his acknowledgement, “You’re not. Easy to read, I mean.” 

“You seem to have done a pretty good job of it.” 

Harry shrugged, “I don’t know - I think I tend to just talk out of my ass a bit,” he shoots Louis a tentative smile, and Louis can’t help but smile back. “I also, um, I know I don’t know you that well. But you do, I just,” Harry huffs a little in frustration as he tries to find the words to say what he means, “if you want to talk about it, we can. Or about anything else, really.” 

Louis thinks. There are a lot of things he’d like to talk about. He just doesn’t know how to start talking about it. And then there’s also the worry that once he starts talking about it he won’t be able to stop. He decides to try to be as vague as possible, “This past year has just been rough, I think. I’ve just been getting in my head too much.” 

“Anything you’ve been thinking about in particular?” 

“Just - sometimes, it feels like I get too many thoughts about one thing. Like, I’ll just fixate on one thing I’ve fucked up on and I can’t get it out of my head. And then, like, nothing else matters, y’know?” 

Harry nods, “I get that. Thoughts like that can be so overwhelming - it’s hard to do anything when that happens.” 

Louis finds himself nodding back, “Yeah, and then it’s like, the only way I can fix it is to shut down completely I guess? I just stopped going to class or answering people’s texts or doing anything.” 

“Did it help?” 

“For a while, I guess. And then I would just be in my room thinking about what a shitbag I was for not going to class and wasting my parent’s money, and then thinking I was a shitbag for not answering my friends when I knew that they had their own shit going on that I should help them with.” 

“That’s not fair to you. You deserve to take the space that you need. You’re not a shit friend for having to take a step back.” Harry says softly, “You’re not a shitbag for not going to class either. Mental health is always more important.” 

“Have you ever talked to someone about that kind of stuff?” 

“Mental health stuff?”, Harry asks, looking to clarify. 

Louis nods. 

“Um, a bit, yeah. I go to, like, the counseling center right now, which was intimidating at first but it’s alright. Have you?” 

Louis shakes his head, “Too nervous to, I guess. And that’s like - I don’t want to misuse the service, y’know?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Like, there are people with actual problems and like, trauma and stuff. I don’t want to take a service away from someone who really needs it just because I can’t manage my shit.” 

“Louis,” Harry’s voice is more sure, stronger than before, “You deserve to go. Just because some people might have like, “more trauma” or whatever doesn’t make what you’re going through invalid. And it doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t reach out.” 

“Is it bad? Like, what will I have to tell them?” 

“Nothing you don’t want to. They’ll ask a lot of questions at first, in the intake appointment or whatever. But you don’t have to answer them if you don’t feel comfortable. You can always bring that stuff up later.” 

“Why’d you go?” 

Harry looks a little taken aback. 

“Sorry,” Louis backtracks, “I just - I don’t, I don’t really talk about this kind of stuff and I don’t know what -” 

“It’s alright,” Harry interrupts, “just caught me a little off guard. It’s a lot of stuff that I just wanted to talk about. I’m nervous a lot, I guess. And um, like you were saying earlier I’d get where I just couldn’t do anything. Just felt really numb a lot, and started doing stuff to fix that feeling that I didn’t really like, and so I decided that maybe I should talk about it with someone.”    
  


Harry’s being intentionally vague, Louis knows, and he decides that it’s best not to press for what “stuff” Harry had been doing to make himself feel better. “Yeah. Will they um, will they freak out if I tell them stuff?” 

“Depends on the kind of stuff. There’s some stuff they  _ have  _ to report to like, the police or authorities or other stuff. But that’s only if you like, have an immediate intent to hurt yourself or someone else. Or if you know about a minor who’s being like, abused.” 

“What if it’s not immediate?” 

“Your intent to harm yourself?” 

Louis takes a nervous breath, finally deciding that it’s too late to go back now, and nods. 

“Then they won’t report it. They’ll probably want to talk to you about it though.” 

“Is that fucked up?” 

“No.” Harry answers quickly, “Absolutely not. It’s awful that you have to go through that - but you aren’t a bad person for having those feelings and you’re not fucked up for feeling that way.”, he takes a breath, looking hard at Louis, trying to make sure that he’s internalized that message. “They can be really overwhelming, thoughts like that. And talking to someone about them can make them feel less overwhelming. Like, even if you don’t go to a professional, sometimes just saying them out loud to someone helps. Even if it’s just me.” 

“You’d do that?” 

Harry had seemed confused by the question, “Of course I would. We’re friends.” 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings: graphic depictions of sexual assault and self-harm. 
> 
> keep safe + take care. 
> 
> xx

Harry’s sleep is fitful, as it usually is. He doesn’t have flashbacks in dreams per say, at least not cohesive ones. He had been drunk enough that night that he couldn’t put everything together in any form of personal narrative, even while conscious. He has never been able to touch what happened. The chain of events are detailed in his memory – a bullet list of actions and consequences, but they don’t feel like  _ his _ . 

He can remember that the bathroom was right next to the door to Louis’ bedroom, and that the towels had been hanging to the left of the sink. They had been a light sage green. He could remember that he had been sitting to the right of the toilet, next to the door. He can remember that he had on a shirt he’d been given by Zayn nearly a year prior, which had begun to stretch thin and pill from the subpar university washing machines. He could remember that Louis’ roommate had seemed so kind when he’d walked in, asking if Harry was okay, if he’d had too much to drink. He remembered that he had crouched next to him, a look of concern on his face. 

It was his right hand first, up the left leg, pausing briefly at the cusp of his knee, fingers tracing the baby hairs where the two bones were bound together. Harry could remember how his touch wasn’t gentle, but it was hesitant at first. Mark’s hand had pushed him backwards into the wall, pinning him to the bathroom floor. Mark’s fingers hung just above him, ghosting his skin below. 

Harry could never remember when the door locked - just knew that it happened. He remembered that Mark had been laughing, pulling at Harry’s shirt, telling him that he knew Harry “wasn’t really a guy” so what was about to happen didn’t matter. He remembered that he’d kept whispering that Harry wanted it, that he needed this, and Harry’s brain, soaked in alcohol, had tried to understand what that meant. He knew that he didn’t take off Harry’s underwear. The whole way through. Just pushed the fabric to the side to allow for space. Harry’s boxers had been a second skin that clung too tight, the waistband digging against his hips at the tension, newly acquired sinew that bent and twisted against itself. 

Mark unlocked the bathroom as soon as it was over, slipped back into the party. A moment after he left, Harry had heard his loud, commanding laugh from outside the door. There had been an unspoken trust between them, a knowing, that what had occurred was insignificant. Meaningless. 

He’d thrown up before he left the bathroom, which had served to sober him significantly, allowed him to begin to put a name to exactly what just happened to him. A name, a label , that he quickly wanted to flee from. He’d run into Louis on the way out the door - his face full of concern as to “why he was leaving so early”. Louis, drunk and high, had grabbed Harry’s arm to steady himself and asked him to stay, had said that he had “something really important” he wanted to tell him. But Harry had been unable to say anything, just brushed Louis’ hand off of his arm and left, shutting the door of the apartment behind him, muffling the conversation and laughter from the party. 

He could never remember how he got home either, just that somehow he was in the living room of his and Niall’s apartment, and Niall was asking him how everything went, and if he’d managed to chat with Louis while he was there. 

“Haz, Haz -” 

A shaking wakes him, and he flinches backward into himself. He’s immediately alert, aware that this is not his room and that someone is in the bed with him and starts to panic until he’s able to recognize the room and voice as Zayn’s. It’s then too, as he’s gaining more awareness that he realizes with a jolt of embarrassment and shame that he’s wet the bed, again. 

It’s the second time that this has happened at Zayn’s apartment, and it’s just as embarrassing as the last time. The first time, Harry had woken up before Zayn did, had shut himself in the bathroom for hours, sobbing because he couldn’t believe that he’d done that in his friend’s bed. It was one thing for that to happen at home; when he could wake up alone to the mess he made and have a panic attack without anyone seeing, before taking the hottest shower possible and then rushing to wash the sheets in the middle of the night without Niall noticing. It was another thing altogether for it to happen where someone else could see, where someone else would have to deal with him - where someone else would know how fucking disgusting he was. 

He feels like this is the final proof that he’s lost it. Because, Jesus Christ, plenty of people have panic attacks, but what kind of fucked up sack of shit wets himself because of a  _ bad dream _ . He feels absolutely, unforgivably pathetic. 

_ Zayn didn’t fucking sign up for this when he agreed to be friends with you - he’s only staying because he feels sorry for you. I mean, who would want to stay friends with a fucked up freak?,  _ a voice in the back of his head repeats again and again, and Harry has never felt more shame in his life. He desperately needs to hurt himself, needs it to mark that he’s done something wrong, that he knows it was wrong, that he’s so deeply  _ sorry  _ to whoever has to deal with him. 

“Harry, c’mon it’s alright. I’m not mad - it happens.”, Zayn attempts to reach for him, place a hand on his back to comfort him, but Harry jerks away. He can’t let Zayn touch something like him. He won’t force Zayn to handle something so utterly disgusting. 

Harry pulls himself up from the bed and hurries to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Part of him regrets agreeing that it “might be best” for Zayn to take the locks off his doors, “just in case” Harry ever had a really bad episode at his house. He wants to lock the door, wants a real, physical barrier between him and the bedroom. But, he also knows that Zayn won’t follow him, at least without warning him.  _ He won’t come in unannounced _ , Harry soothes himself,  _ he’ll let you be alone.  _

And he feels dirty that he’s about to take advantage of that kindness that Zayn has afforded him - hates that he’s violating Zayn’s trust, but the aching need to punish himself takes over. He doesn’t care that Zayn will find out. He doesn’t care that it’ll break Zayn’s heart to see him like that. He needs to do this. He fumbles for Zayn’s shaving razors, opening the cabinet to the left of the sink where he knows Zayn keeps them. He’s in a frenzy, barely able to register his own actions, much less the thoughts that are circling around his brain. He breaks open the disposable plastic with his bare hands, shredding the pads of his fingers and thumb in his desperation to get the razors out. 

  
And then they’re there. In his hand. They’re cheap and flimsy but Harry can’t find himself to care. He’s still with it enough to not immediately dig the razor into his arm, instead sitting on the edge of the tub and pulling the leg of Zayn’s shorts up. 

_ You fucking deserve worse than this,  _ he reminds himself as he drags the razor across his thigh, relishing in the way that it immediately calms him down. Makes his thoughts slow down, stops him from feeling like the world is spinning too fast. 

“Harry, babe, I’m really worried, I’m going to come in alright?”, Harry hears Zayn’s voice on the other side of the door, and can’t bring himself to care that Zayn’s about to walk in. He doesn’t even bother to hide the razor. 

“Oh, babe.”, Zayn’s voice is soft in the background of his mind as he focuses on the rush of pain brought on by the cuts.

It’s not new to Zayn. Granted, he’s never caught Harry actually hurting himself, but he knew that it was happening. It was one of the first things Zayn knew about Harry, really. Most of Harry’s scars are easily covered; they’re up and down his thighs mostly, a few on his shoulder, and some just at the bottom of his stomach where his waistband falls; but there’s one that’s pretty hard to hide. It’s a couple of inches long and runs the underside of Harry’s left wrist. Harry tries to keep it concealed by a watch and a couple of bracelets, but it’s big enough to be pretty hard to hide. 

He’d noticed it when he’d first met Harry, made an educated guess as to what it was, and decided that it was best to not mention it just yet. A week later, they’d been out to dinner with some of Zayn’s friends, and one of them had noticed the scar too and asked Harry about it. Harry’s face had faltered for half a second before he had plastered on a smile and barked out a too-loud, too-fake laugh. 

“You would not believe this, but about a year ago I dropped a spoon into the garbage disposal and was rummaging around for it, and I guess I must have like, hit something because it flipped on. Really did a number on me, huh?” 

Later, when they’d been walking to Harry’s apartment, away from the crowded restaurant, Zayn had felt the need to acknowledge what had happened. Maybe it was that Harry was being uncharacteristically quiet, and Zayn wanted to let him know that they could talk about it. Maybe it was because he was worried Harry thought no one knew, and he wanted to do anything in his power to make Harry feel less alone. 

“Y’know, I thought your apartment didn’t have a garbage disposal.”, Zayn had ended up saying, in what he hoped was as offhandedly as possible. 

Harry had swiped a hand under his nose, “It doesn’t.”

“You wanna talk about it?” 

“Another time Z, yeah?” 

Zayn shakes the memory from his head, turns his attention back to his friend who’s holding the broken pieces of a shaving razor in his shaking hands. 

“Here, babe, let me take that from you.” He extends his hand to take the razors from Harry’s grip, being careful not to grab them out of his hands too quickly, he definitely doesn’t want to hurt Harry’s damaged fingers anymore than they already are. “Thank you, Haz.” he murmurs after he gets the razors from Harry. 

Harry had managed to make five cuts before Zayn had come in, most of them are pretty shallow, and only one has Zayn concerned. He takes some toilet paper and applies pressure to that one, trying to make it as painless as possible for Harry. 

He knows not to try and talk to Harry right now. At least, not about anything that’s currently happening. Trying to have a conversation about him wetting the bed or having a panic attack or hurting himself would only serve to make the situation worse. 

So, instead, he narrates what he’s doing, telling Harry that he’s just trying to stop the bleeding right now, that he isn’t too worried about it, assures him that he definitely won’t have to go to the doctors. And then he switches to a tangent about getting first aid certified for a summer job a couple of years ago, and how terrible his instructor had been. 

The bleeding stops after a couple of minutes. They’re left sitting there, neither of them making eye-contact. Harry feels boneless and tired and sick and can’t even bring himself to think about what’s going to happen next, and Zayn’s unsure of what the right next move is. 

He knows that Harry needs a shower, maybe a bath given the fact that he doesn’t seem present enough to stand on his own for any length of time. He knows too, that he’ll need to take care of the sheets, which means leaving Harry alone even for just a couple of minutes, which Zayn is also pretty hesitant to do right now. 

Eventually he settles on getting Harry clean first, deciding that Harry must feel pretty gross right now, and getting him more comfortable is probably to top priority. 

“C’mon Haz, let’s get you cleaned up alright?” 

Harry blinks up at him, still lost somewhere in his thoughts. 

“We’re gonna have to get you in the tub, alright? Do you wanna do a shower or a bath?”

Again, Harry stares up at him, silent, and Zayn curses himself for phrasing it as an open-ended question. 

“Would you like a bath babe?” he asks, and receives an immediate shake of the head, “A shower then?”, Harry pauses a moment before he reluctantly nods. 

“You want me to stay?”, Harry shakes his head again. 

“Okay, I’ll be in the next room so if you need anything just let me know. And I’m going to leave the door open, just in case alright?” 

And, fuck, Harry must be really out of it, because he doesn’t even protest a little at the new restrictions, just bobs his head again. Zayn starts the water up for Harry and grabs a spare towel from the cabinet. Before he leaves he makes sure to grab his shaving kit and does a quick once-over of the bathroom to see if there’s anything sharp that he’s missing. He doesn’t think that Harry’s really in the place to do that again, but he couldn’t be too careful. He grabs another change of clothes for Harry and sits it just at the corner of the bathroom door, where Harry could see when he got out of the shower, and then makes his way into the bedroom to clean up. 

He would be lying to say that he wasn’t shocked the first time this happened. At the time, he’d known that Harry had been having some really bad dreams, but not that they had reached that level. That night, he’d woken up to a wet bed and a sobbing Harry in the bathroom. He had no idea how long Harry had been awake and aware of what had happened before he came in. Harry had been shaking so badly that night. He’d been more verbal that he was now, crying and apologizing and calling himself all sorts of terrible things. He hadn’t hurt himself that time though, at least not to Zayn’s knowledge. He had dug his hands into his hair and pulled  _ hard _ , again and again, but he hadn’t tried to find Zayn’s razors or tried to grab the ones that Zayn knew Harry had started keeping in his wallet behind his student ID. 

They’d talked about it after, sort of. Harry hadn’t wanted to give any details as to the dream that he’d had before it happened. Just that it had been “bad”. And then he’d started his repetition of “I’m so so sorry” again, and Zayn hadn’t been able to shift the conversation much beyond that. He’d just held onto Harry, and told him that he didn’t have anything to apologize for, until Harry had tired himself out and relaxed into sleep against Zayn. And the next morning, Harry had apologized again, and Zayn had told him that he didn’t need to, again, and things had returned to normal. 

To be honest, Zayn had been hoping that it was a one-off thing. When it happened the first time, he remembers asking Harry if that was something he had to deal with often, and Harry had just shrugged. And Zayn had let it go, assuming that was Harry’s way of saying that it had happened a few times when he was alone, but that Zayn didn’t need to worry. Now, Zayn was beginning to think that this probably wasn’t a one-time thing. And fuck, he was  _ angry _ at that. Why couldn’t Harry just get a fucking break? 

He shoves the sheets into the wash, still angry at the world or god or fate or whatever allowed this to happen. He grabs the baking powder from the kitchen angrily and spreads it on the stain in the mattress. He’s still furious as he smooths out the new sheets on his bed, and replaces all the pillows and blankets. 

He sits on the edge of the bed for a moment, trying to calm himself down before Harry comes back into the room. Harry is so perceptive when it comes to moods, and Zayn doesn’t want Harry to think that the anger Zayn’s feeling is directed at him or what happened. Because it’s not. Fuck, Harry could shit the bed for all he cared and he wouldn’t be mad. He’s just so fucking angry at the fact that of all people, Harry, the kind, bubbly, wouldn’t-hurt-a-fly Harry has to deal with all of this shit. 

Harry emerges a couple of minutes later, this time in a pair of Zayn’s sweatpants and another sweatshirt. 

“Hi Z” 

“Hi baby - you feeling better?” 

Harry’s lip trembles dangerously. Not trusting himself to speak without crying, he nods his head. 

“Was it a dream?” 

Another nod. 

“About him?” 

Another nod. 

“Fuck him.” 

Harry lets out a wet laugh, tension dissipating from his body. 

“I’d never be mad about something like that Haz. It’s nor-” he stops himself before saying “normal”, because fuck, putting someone through all of that fucking trauma is not  _ fucking normal.  _ “It happens, especially when you’ve gone through something like that. Nothing to be ashamed of, okay?”, he opens his arms, an invitation to come closer. This time, Harry accepts, walks the couple of steps between them and leans into Zayn’s touch. 

“Plenty of people go through something like that and don’t lose their shit every night.”, Harry mumbles into Zayn’s chest. 

“Every night babe?” Zayn asks, terrified that Harry’s about to tell him that this happens every night. 

Harry pulls back from Zayn’s embrace and looks at his feet, “Not everything happens every night. But, the dreams, yeah. They happen most nights.” 

“Haz,” Zayn starts, but Harry leans in again, desperate to be comforted and Zayn falls silent. He doesn’t know what to say, honestly. What do you say to someone who has to re-experience something like that every night? That it’ll be okay? That he shouldn’t be scared? Because both of those sound like bullshit to Zayn. 

Eventually, Zayn guides the two of them back to bed. It’s unlikely either of them will be falling asleep anytime soon, but he’s guessing that Harry is tired. That even standing up right now is a really big request for Zayn to make. 

“I want to talk about what happened in the bathroom.”, it’s the first time Zayn has made a request like that, and he surprises himself by being so direct. “We don’t have to right now. We can talk tomorrow about it, I know you’re really tired. But I think that we should talk about it.” 

“Okay.”, Harry’s voice is small and sounds so fucking exhausted. 

“Do you want to talk about it tomorrow or now?” 

“We can talk about it now.”

“Does that part happen a lot after you get those dreams?” 

Harry shakes his head into the pillow, “Only when I like, when -”, and Zayn gets that he means that it only happens when he wets the bed. 

“How often does that happen?” 

“Once or twice a week.”

Zayn’s breath catches at that response, because he wasn’t expecting it to be that frequent. “Does Niall know?” 

“He knows that I hurt myself sometimes.” 

“Does he know about -” 

“No.” Harry cuts him off before he can name what just happened, his voice sharp. 

“Okay. Does anyone else know about that bit?”

Harry shakes his head. 

“Thank you for talking to me about this baby. I know it’s tough, and I know it takes a lot to trust someone with something like this.” 

Harry doesn’t respond to that. But Zayn can tell he’s heard it because his breathing goes funny for a second - it catches in the back of his throat and stills for a second, before Harry’s able to get it back under control. 

“And, I just - we don’t have to go into this right now, but I just want to check. When you hurt yourself, are you using like, safe things?” 

“I clean everything Z - and I get new stuff after a bit. And I know the student health number is something goes wrong or if it’s too bad for me to deal with alone. Which, I don’t think it will. I’m not in that place.” 

Zayn knows this - they’ve had this part of the conversation, the “harm reduction” discussion a thousand times, but Zayn likes to remind himself, and maybe Harry too, of the things they’d talked about to reduce the likelihood of Harry’s self-harm doing significant damage. 

“Can we just lay for a bit?”, Harry’s voice is quiet again, almost afraid. “Just need to think.” 

And Zayn nods, cuddles Harry closer to him and puts his head on his chest. He listens to Harry’s breathing until it calms. He hears Harry’s heartbeat, steady and slow, in his ear, and falls asleep comforted by the knowledge that Harry is still here. That he’s alive - that his heart’s beating and he’s breathing. And for right now, just for this one night, that’s enough. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no big trigger warnings, there is a really brief reference to Louis' relationship with his stepfather/experience with abuse but it's not explicit. 
> 
> take care, and be kind to yourself. 
> 
> xx

It’s been three days - three days since Louis last saw Harry and three days since he sent the text, and to say that he’s beyond nervous for today is an understatement. Harry had taken his time to respond, it had been late the next day when Louis had finally, finally received a response from Harry. It had been short - a “would love to, free wednesday if you are?”, but it had sent Louis into an anxious spiral. 

But today was finally Wednesday. 

He was going to see Harry today.  _ He was going to see Harry today.  _

And this time it would just be the two of them, no Niall acting as a barrier for the tension between them. He’d been surprised when Harry had agreed to meet with him, to be completely honest - he’d expected Harry to decline, or at least ask if Zayn or Niall could join them. But he’d said yes - and Louis was not going to fuck this up. 

He wouldn’t let himself fuck this up. 

Zayn  _ had _ talked to him, almost immediately after Harry had responded, he’d gotten a text from Zayn. And the conversation hadn’t been angry or accusatory by any means, but it had been firm. A warning that Harry was vulnerable, and that he needed to be careful with what he said and how he said it. Zayn had also reminded Louis that if he was going to see Harry again, it would mean “really committing to seeing him.” “ _ I don’t think you’d do this, but I don’t want you having one conversation with him to absolve whatever guilt you might be feeling, and just think you can dip out again. He can’t take that a second time.”  _ He’d fixed him with a look after he’d said, one that Louis had only had directed at him a couple of times. It wasn’t judgemental, and it wasn’t like he was disappointed in him exactly, but it carried a weight with it, a heaviness, that Louis couldn’t shake even now. 

He’s waiting outside of Harry and Niall’s apartment now, eyes trained to the door on the second floor. He can’t stop his hands from shaking, and he tries to steady them by gripping the wheel harder. He’d rehearsed how he thought this conversation might go, but he still felt grossly unprepared. He’d woken himself up in a panic last night because he realized he hadn’t prepped music for their car ride, and then spent the better part of two hours carefully crafting a playlist on spotify. He’d figured (and hoped) that they’d be talking most of the time, so he didn’t want to pick music that was too loud, but he also didn’t want to bring down the mood by playing music that was too slow or sad. He’d eventually settled on a playlist that he was mostly proud of, and he had it turned on gently now in the background. 

At last, he sees the front door of the apartment open, and two figures come out the door. His heart drops for a second, thinking that Harry had been scared last minute and asked Niall to come with him, but then he sees Niall turn and give Harry a hug, patting him gently on the back as he does so. Harry makes his way slowly down the stairs by himself. He’s dressed casually, but intentionally, Louis thinks. Like he wants Louis to know that he can put himself together. Even so, Louis can see that Harry’s not doing the best he could be doing. He looks tired, his undereyes are almost black, probably from lack of sleep and his eyes themselves are a little glassy. His lips are split and torn up, like he’s been picking at them a lot recently, a bad habit that Harry had been trying to break for a long time. He opens the car door hesitantly, and slides into the passenger seat. 

It’s a familiar image, Harry here in the shotgun of his car, but one that seems ages away. The last time they were here it had been the last week of their summer together. He’d asked Harry if he wanted to go get a slushie and go for a drive, and Harry had, of course, grinned and nodded. It had become a tradition between them during that summer, walking or driving to the nearest 7-11 to get slushies together. Louis always got the blue flavor and Harry always,  _ always _ mixed the cherry and coke flavors together. Harry was so adamant about his love for this mixture that the one time that their normal 7-11 ran out of the cherry flavor, he made Louis drive 20 minutes to the next one just so he could get it. Louis desperately wants those memories to be good ones, to be ones that he reminisces on with joy, but, even now, they’re tinged with sadness and regret. 

“You look far away,” Harry interrupts his thoughts and brings him back into the present. 

“Yeah sorry, was just thinking.” 

Harry gives him a small smile, and huffs out half a laugh. 

“I was thinking of driving to Oxford if that’s alright? I know it’s a bit far, but I thought it would be a nice drive and we could maybe grab lunch while we’re there?” 

Harry thinks, biting the inside of his lip as he contemplates the plan. Finally he responds with, “Yeah, Oxford is fine. Maybe we could get coffee instead of lunch? I just ate with Niall, so I’m not really too hungry.” 

“Oh yeah - that’s fine. Coffee sounds good. I know a good cafe.” 

Harry smiles, something like relief settling on his face. Louis decides not to question it. 

“Good song.” Harry taps the radio, smiling. It’s playing  _ Garden Song  _ from Phoebe Bridgers’ new album, one of Louis' absolute favorite albums of this year. 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah. I really liked Punisher. I had to limit myself to only listening to the album once a day so I didn’t wear it out too quickly.” 

They talk for a long time about Punisher, going over their favorite songs and lyrics as Louis drives. It’s a safe topic, far away from anything that's happened to or between them in the past year. It’s Harry, surprisingly, who starts to bring the conversation close to more personal territory. It’s about thirty minutes into the drive, and they’re somehow still talking about Phoebe Bridgers, when Harry begins to transition into it, “I just think that her song Kyoto, and I guess the album as a whole like, really speaks to what it’s like to have a parent who’s done shitty things and like, still loving them - and like, both wanting to stop caring so much about what they think, but also for feeling bad for like, not doing enough for them, if that makes sense. And like, yeah, I think I really needed to hear that.” 

“Yeah. Relationships with parents who have fucked you over are so complicated and difficult - and I guess, painful. It sounds like this past year hasn’t been the best for you with like, parent stuff.” 

Harry huffs out a laugh again and nods, “I guess, yeah. I started going home again. Just for holidays and stuff, but yeah.” 

“How’s that going?” 

Harry looks hesitant. He’s been, not closed off for the conversation, but careful. Louis’ noticed a couple of times when Harry cut himself off, not wanting to complete a thought in front of him. And Louis understands that, he does. He just wishes Harry didn’t feel the need to police himself in front of him. 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to, I know we’re not -” Louis offers, but Harry cuts him off. 

“No, it’s alright. You’re my - we’re friends. And, yeah.” 

Louis smiles at that. However hesitant Harry’s statement was, it comforts him that Harry still considers him a friend. “Okay. You’re my friend too.” 

Harry smiles at his hands in his lap, “Um, but parent stuff is going okay. Not great like, they still don’t like, call me the right name or anything. But, um, yeah - it could be worse.” 

Louis nods. There are a million questions running through his head that he wants to ask. And he wants to rush in and tell Harry that just because “it could be worse” doesn’t mean that it’s okay - but he doesn’t think that he’s the person Harry should be hearing that from. He’s sure that Zayn and Niall have told him the same things, and he doesn’t want to overstep. 

“I’m sorry that things aren’t great.” 

“Not your fault.” 

“Yeah - but it still sucks, and I’m still sorry that you have to go through that.” 

“How’s parent stuff with you?” 

Time feels like it stops for a second. It feels like all the air in the car has been sucked out through the air vent and he suddenly feels the urge to vomit. The thing is, Harry kind of knows what he’s asking. Not about his mum, he doesn’t think Harry has a clue about that, but he does have a clue about his step-father. Harry had gotten most, not all, but the vast majority of the details about his relationship with his step-father. And sure, things had taken a turn since he’d last spoken about it, gotten a bit more consistently violent, but Harry still knew. 

“Lou?”, the pet name slips out of Harry’s mouth, and Louis’ not sure if Harry meant it. Or if he’d meant it like he meant it before. 

Louis shakes himself. He’s driving for godsakes, he can’t have a panic attack right now. And he definitely cannot have a panic attack in front of Harry. “Sorry. Um, things are different.” 

“Good different or bad different?” 

“Bad.” 

“You don’t deserve that Louis,” and Louis hates how much it bothers him that Harry didn’t call him `Lou` this time. 

“Maybe I do.” 

“Don’t say that about yourself. You’re - you’re one of the best people I know. And no one, absolutely no one deserves to be treated the way he treats you. But you especially don’t deserve that.” 

“You still think that?” 

“Think what? That you don’t deserve to be treated like that - of course I do.” 

“No. You, um, you still think that I’m a good person?” 

“Of course I do.” 

“How can you say that? After -” 

“Because I believe it.” Harry cuts him off, “I wanted to think you were a shitty person. Fuck, I tried so  _ fucking  _ hard to think you were a shitty person. But you’re not. So I can’t think that.” 

“I treated you like shit though.” 

“I think that’s an overstatement.” 

“Really?” 

Harry sighs, and worries his lip between his teeth, “I don’t know. Zayn told me that it wasn’t. But I can’t make myself believe it, I guess.” There’s silence in the car, Louis feels like there’s more that Harry’s not saying, and he wants so badly for him to say what’s on his mind. “It’s like - I just wish someone would tell me what to do. Like, I’ve fucked up figuring out what to do or say or whatever on my own, and I just wish someone would tell me what to say to you. Or like, do about you.” 

“Do you think that would be better?” 

Harry scoffs, “I dunno - it’d be easier, and that’s the whole point isn’t it?” 

“I don’t know if that’s the whole point. Like, yeah, it’d be nice if things were easier. But isn’t the whole point to like, do what’s best for you. Not just what’s easier?” 

“I mean, I guess yeah - Zayn wanted me to be mad at you. And  _ I wanted _ to want to be mad at you, y’know that? Like, I wanted to be done with you. You told me that I was the best -”, he cuts himself off, “you said a lot of things that meant a lot to me. And I dunno, you don’t just say that to people. You don’t say that kind of stuff if you don’t mean it.” 

“Harry - I meant everything I said.” 

“Why’d this happen then? If you meant everything you said our summer, then something must have happened to make things like this. What did I do Louis?” 

Louis sucks in a breath. He’d been prepared for this. He’d rehearsed the answer for so long. Wanting to get it right, to say exactly what he meant. But sitting here, in this moment, the words that he’d prepared feel flat. “You didn’t do anything, Harry. It’s my fault.” 

“Why’s it your fault then?” 

“Um, so I’m gay.” He begins, thinking that might be as good of a place as any to start. “And I wasn’t really okay with that, at least not during our summer. Like, I knew that being gay was like ‘okay’ or whatever, objectively, but it felt like it wasn’t an okay thing for me to be. It still feels that way, sometimes, I guess. Like, you’re the second person I’ve told. But I didn’t have like, the ‘realization’ or ‘acceptance’ or whatever until like, September of this year. Before then I was doing a really good job of convincing myself that I was straight. And, um, that’s kind of where the you bit comes in. Because,” he falters again - hesitant to proceed. He’s only ever told Zayn that he was gay, and not really openly spoken about what he’s going to say next. “Our summer - it got to a point where I couldn’t deny that I had like, feelings for you. And because I was like, working really hard to convince myself that I was straight, I thought that like, me liking you was me being like, shitty and transphobic. Like, I wasn’t really seeing you for you or something. Or I was like, putting my like, wants and desires ahead of your identity. And I couldn’t like, I couldn’t handle that.” 

“And the solution you came up with was not talking to me?’ Harry’s voice is pitifully small, with just the slightest edge of anger on the end. 

“Yeah.” Louis nods, “Yeah. It was a bad decision. And like I said, it was the worst thing I could have done. And I’m sorry. There’s not an excuse for it.” 

Harry nods. He’s processing, Louis can tell, the gears slowly turning in his head as he turns over the information. There’s quiet in the car for a long while, Louis’ stupid keychain making what seems like an inordinate amount of noise as it jangles in its place in the ignition. 

“Did you know I liked you too?” 

“Um.” Louis isn’t sure how to respond, because the answer is,  _ of course _ , yes. Harry was never very good at hiding his feelings, and had not been subtle by any means in his affection for Louis. Still, he doesn’t know if that’s the “right” answer to give to Harry right now, if he can handle the thought of Louis having known. “I had my suspicions I guess, yeah.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me to fuck off?” 

And Louis feels like that’s unfair. Because how could he have told Harry to fuck off? When all he’d wanted to do was tell him that he wanted this too, that he felt the same way as Harry. “I guess, selfishly I suppose, I didn’t want you to fuck off. Like, I felt that way too. And it made me feel good to know that you felt the same.” 

“Eleanor?” 

“I fucked that up too. It’s - complicated with her, I guess. Like, we stopped seeing each other a couple months after our summer. And I guess I didn’t handle that ending as well as I could have. And then she was so angry about everything. She said a lot of really hurtful things.” 

“Did you have like, actual feelings for her?” 

“Yes? No. I don’t think like, feelings like I had for you.” Harry winces, a series of emotions flashes across his face, every expression more unreadable than the last. “I don’t want to be like, crude, but like, she’s objectively attractive and it’d be a lie to say I didn’t, enjoy myself I guess. But it was like -” Louis falters, confused as to how to explain himself. “It was like, you know how like, some parents put you in football or whatever as a kid. And they tell you that you love it, and you’re supposed to love it, and because you don’t actively hate it, you convince yourself that ‘yeah, this is what loving something feels like’. And then like, I dunno, once you get to high school you take a drama class and you like, actually  _ love  _ it. And you’re like ‘fuck, if this is what loving something feels like then I sure as hell don’t love football’. That was what it was like.” 

“So Eleanor is football in this example?”, there’s a faint hint of humor in Harry’s tone. 

“Alright, fuck off, yeah, I suppose she is.” 

“Do you still - do you still feel the same way about drama class?” 

Louis frowns, picking up on what Harry is asking. “I still feel that way about drama class, yeah. But I think drama class probably has a lot of stuff going on right now. So maybe I shouldn’t like, barge into drama class and just take over.” 

Harry nods. Louis takes his eyes off the road to check in on him, but can’t read his expression. 

“I think that you’re right. That there’s a lot of stuff going on,” Harry plays with the rings on his fingers, pulling them on and off, “but I still feel that way too. And that’s not to say I want you to “barge in and take over or whatever”, but I just wanted to tell you that I still feel that way too. Didn’t feel right not to.” 

Louis’ heart skips a beat at that - to think that Harry still feels that way - that there’s maybe, possibly a chance of something happening in the future. 

“How about we keep seeing each other and talking, and see how we feel in a little while, is that okay?” 

Harry nods, “Yeah. That’s okay.” 

“How are you feeling about everything else? Like, about last summer and everything.” 

Harry looks down, and takes his time to respond. “I don’t think I ever felt angry about it, or like, I was never mad at you. So I don’t know how to forgive you - or if I even like, need to forgive you if I never felt angry. Like, it’s still hard for me to recognize that you did something wrong. I’m still sad about it. But also I think that having an explanation means a lot. Especially when you were dealing with something like that. Sexuality is confusing and tough to figure out and it makes sense to like, have a hard time with it.” 

Louis nods, and reaches over to grab Harry’s hand. Harry flinches slightly, but lets Louis take his hand and squeeze it, a silent message just between them that Louis hopes communicates that he’s here for him, that he’s glad they’re talking again, that he’d do absolutely anything for him. 


End file.
